


More Terrible than Death: Sequel to Village of Voices

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Ghosts, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Season/Series 01, Suicidal Thoughts, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 74,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months have passed since the events of ‘Village of Voices’ and the Winchester brothers are on the verge of cracking. Dean is getting more careless with each passing day putting himself and Sam in danger. Sam believes it’s not simply carelessness either, he believes Dean is suicidal. </p><p>During a hunt in Hannibal, Missouri to stop what they believe is a vengeful spirit things begin to unravel sending them both down a dark road. Sam is terrified if Dean doesn't open up soon he'll lose him forever. The question is how do you save someone that doesn’t want to be saved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Live Journal beginning April 2006 & finished in March 2007
> 
> This story is complete, but as with "Village of Voices" I will be re-editing each chapter before posting it here. Please hang in there and humor me. Thank you in advance. =D

_Where life is more terrible than death,_

_It is then the truest valor to dare to live._

 

Thomas Browne

_Religio_ _Medici_

***

 

They never spoke of Connecticut or of what happened far beneath Bara-Hack. Those few days when the world shifted beneath their feet and the spirits of those they loved came to walk beside them in their darkest hour. They pushed it away as the painful memory it was to collect dust in the furthest corners of their minds convinced it was over.

The strange thing about the past though is no matter how far or fast you run it possesses the ability to come back and bite you in the ass. This was something that should have been ingrained deep beneath their skin, actually it had been, but they were also stubborn—their father’s sons.

Men are men.

They do not cry in the open, they face their fears, and they walk away the stronger for it.

Sam Winchester would have argued that. That was if he had the strength.

***

"Dean!"

With a roar, Sam was on his feet scrambling over shattered debris and the remnants of the homeless who had once lived within the walls of this nightmare come true. He tried to ignore the sound of dry brittle bones shattered to dust beneath his boots as he searched for the book the Djinn had knocked from his hands. He could hear Dean cursing a blue streak in the darkness as he dangled from the steel piping surrounding the catwalk fifty feet above the floor of the warehouse basement.

"God damn it where the hell is that book…" Sam mumbled as he dug through the waste of too many lives lost. When he heard his brother scream, he became more frantic in his search. "Oh, shit…shit…shit…"

He was on the edge of hysteria when his fingers closed around the rough texture of the book cover a half-assed sigh of relief on his bloody lips. If Dean didn’t die tonight, he was seriously considering killing him. He’d warned him about running in full throttle without thoroughly researching the damn thing, but leave it to Dean to blow any warning off that might pass from Sam’s lips.

A sudden heat curled around his arm as a salamander slithered out of the darkness. "Fuck!" He yelped as flames flickered across its serpentine body. The material of his jacket sleeve began to smoke sending him in a frenzied attempt to rip it off, stand, and cling to the small book clasp in hand all at the same time.

The salamander hissed skin flaring as it turned into a writhing ball of flame. Sam flung the now burning jacket into the darkness, salamander and all, and then turned on heel stumbling over the cluttered floor back into the main section of the warehouse basement. His focus lifted to where the Djinn had Dean by the scruff of the neck, long clawed fingers digging into the faded material of his army jacket. With one hand, Dean was trying to grab the railing again as his legs flailed in the open air, and with the other hand, he attempted to remove the gun, tucked in the waist of his jeans.

"Let me go you son of a bitch!" Dean howled aiming a foot at the Djinn’s crotch.

"What no! Damn it, Dean, don’t piss it off anymore!" Sam screamed at the top of his lungs as the creature in question threw its head back and let out an eerie howl of laughter.

Thumbing through the yellowed pages of the book, his eyes flicked from the ancient text to where Dean dangled kicking and cursing far above the ground. Sam cursed beneath his breath. Why in the hell did Dean never fucking listen, he wondered, as he searched for the passage he’d translated. All he’d had to do was be patient, but _oh, fucking no_ he couldn’t do that, Sam thought with irritation.

A surge of relief filled his chest as he located the passage. He hadn’t had time to translate it in its entirety, but he was sure he could wing it. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a vial of holy water and popped the cap with one thumb as he held his place in the book. Splashing holy water on the ground his voice rose into the rafters as he began reciting the passage, praying he was right or Dean was going to become one crispy critter splat on the concrete.

"Elementals of water I call thee to my world!"

Splash of holy water.

"Hear my voice as I ask you to lend me your power!"

Splash of holy water.

"Undines spirits of the water of life!"

"Some help here, Sam!" Dean bellowed as the Djinn’s hands flared to life with flames.

Blocking out Dean’s curse filled howl Sam splashed more holy water on the ground watching it glimmer and swell. This had better work or he’d be able to carry Dean back to the motel in a jar, he thought, stomach squirming.

"Hear me, Niksa, King of the Undines, quench the fire of madness!"

A final splash of holy water on the ground and Sam was thrown back into a stack of crates with a loud crash as the water swelled up into a wave and took on the form of a man. Sam let out a gasp as he felt his ribs crack and the being of water stepped forward.

_"I am Niksa…who are you to call me?"_

He sucked a breath in ribs protesting as he pushed himself up from the ground. "I call you to retrieve your fellow elemental, driven mad by the foolishness of mortal children."

Pale aquamarine eyes studied him for a moment and then the Niksa turned to where Dean was being lit on fire by the Djinn. With a roar reminiscent of the stormy waves of the ocean, the Niksa rolled forward on a towering wave of water fifty feet high. The air filled with crackling energy as the Djinn turned its head in time to see the Niksa thrust one hand forward a fountain of water hitting it square in the chest.

Sam’s eyes went wide as the Djinn lost its grip on Dean, whose clothes were smoking now, and he screamed his brother’s name. His feet slid across the slick concrete as he lost his balance, arms wheeling in wild frenzy, and then he fell. As he hit the concrete, his ribs shrieked along with his spine, and all the air exploded from his lungs. He heard the sharp crack as his head hit the wet concrete and then everything went black.

***

With a groan, Sam sat up, hand clutched to the back of his head. Shit, it felt like a Mack truck had hit him and then backed up over his head. Blinking a few times to clear the tiny starbursts of light from his vision, he stumbled to his feet focused on Dean.

"Dean, where the hell are you? Answer me!"

Nothing but silence greeted him in the darkness as he fumbled with the key chain on his belt loop. Finally releasing the clip, he flipped the penlight around and aimed its narrow beam in the direction he’d last seen Dean. He tried to swallow, but his throat wanted to close up as he searched the shadows.

"Dean!" He screamed again.

From a formless stack of boxes and junk, a loud groan echoed and Sam sighed in relief running across the basement, boots splashing through puddles of water and ash. Flicking the beam across the mess, he began tossing boxes and junk away. Finally, the beam hit Dean’s crumpled body, playing across his soot-smudged face. Dean squinted and groaned as Sam knelt, burble of relieved laughter escaping him.

"Dude, get the fucking light out of my face."

Turning the light away Sam helped him to set up and heard a hiss in pain. "Man, you scared the shit out of me. You okay?"

"Get off, Sam!" Dean shrugged him off as he stumbled to his feet. "I’m fine quit being such a fucking girl."

Sam assessed him with concerned eyes. "You’re not fine, dude. What’s wrong with your shoulder?" He pushed to his feet shining the light along the filthy, scorched material of Dean’s jacket.

"I’m fine!" Dean snapped stumbling over boxes and debris, heading for the door they’d entered what seemed ages ago. As he limped away, he clutched his left shoulder making his way through the sludge like remains of the Djinn and the salamanders.

"Dean…" Sam started after him, anger constricting his chest.

He snapped at Sam. "I said I was fucking fine—okay? Now can we drop it?"

Inhaling, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled beneath his breath.

Dean halted in the door and turned, pale moonlight surrounding him in a halo of silver. "What was that?" He growled.

"I said…" Sam enunciated through clenched teeth, "that you are not fine. You haven’t been fine for weeks, Dean. When are we going to talk about this…" his hands waved wildly as his words failed him.

Turning on his heel, Dean stomped up the leaf-strewn steps out of the basement. "There isn’t anything to talk about."

"Yes, there is!" he snapped as he followed Dean back to the Impala parked in the shadows. "I’m so fucking sick of this shit, Dean! You’ve been acting queer for weeks and tonight is the God damned icing on the cake! You could have fucking died in there!"

Popping the trunk Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam’s flushed face. "What can I say, Sammy, I haven’t said before? Gigs dangerous and we both know it." His voice went cold as he removed the gun from the waist of his jeans and checked it before tucking it away in the trunk, "Ain’t like that’s anything new." He slammed the trunk shut and headed for the driver’s side door.

"Bull shit, Dean!"

Dean pulled the door open leaning on the roof. "What the fuck is your problem, Sam? I already said I’m fine what the hell else do you want from me, dude?"

Eyes focusing on Dean, expression fearful, Sam sighed. "You’ve never talked about it."

"About what?" he swiped at the soot and blood on his face.

"Connecticut."

Narrowing his gaze Dean grunted. "Ain’t a damn thing to say." he started to slide into the driver’s seat.

"You were…God Dean…you were…"

"Don’t." Dean’s voice came out tight, edged with fury. "Don’t say it Sam or so help me God."

"What? You’ll kick my ass?" his eyes burned with anger. "Then do it, Dean, but for Christ’s sake talk to me! I’m so tired of this…just talk to me!"

"If you’re so damn tired of this, then leave."

"What?"

"You heard me, Sam. Fucking leave...go back to your apple pie life. We already know that’s what you want. You made that clear as god damn crystal in Chicago." Dean’s voice lowered. "What are a few months or years between brothers?" The last word came out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Dean, I’m not leaving you…not now…not like this. I can’t."

Dean snorted, "Why the hell not? It isn’t like I need you for anything."

He slipped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him hard enough the entire car vibrated. Sam yanked the door open and slid into the car as Dean started the engine. "That’s not true and you know it." Sadness edged his words. "You can’t do this on your own and you know how I feel about the thing that fucked our family up."

Letting out the clutch, Dean shifted into drive, "Do I?"

***

The ride back to the motel was uncomfortable and Sam simmered in his own juices. All he wanted was to help Dean, but he was being a fucking prick. Sam understood he was angry and scared even if he refused to admit it. The first few weeks after he’d been released from the hospital things had been uneasy and difficult between them, but then Dean had started to act like himself again and Sam began to believe it hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought.

He’d been wrong and he cursed himself for the fool he’d been. Why hadn’t he seen it, he wondered, as he stared out into the passing night. Everything that had been happening was coming into focus for Sam and his gut was twisted in a knot of pain he could no longer deny.

Every job had become more dangerous and Dean more foolish in his actions. Sam should have realized it when they’d taken down the Rawhead in Arkansas. Dean had essentially committed suicide in that basement. Why else would he have been stupid enough to tazer the damn thing while they were both in a pool of water?

By the time they’d gotten back to the motel Sam was in a foul mood. Dean had grabbed the first-aid kit and fresh clothes, disappearing into the bathroom without a word. An hour later he’d came out showered, changed, and dropped the first-aid kit on the bed next to where Sam was sitting. Without a word, he left the hotel room and took off in the Impala leaving Sam to his dark thoughts.

***

"So you’re not from around here are you pretty boy?"

Dean glanced from beneath his lashes at the roughshod cowboy who stood crotch at eye level. He took a swig from his long neck and grinned around the amber glass, "Nope."

"You looking for something in particular?" heavy-lidded lustful sapphire eyes studied Dean.

"Maybe." he popped a pretzel between his lips, sucking the salt crystal from its crisp surface, then curled his tongue out and around it, pulling it into his mouth and began to chew. "So, are you looking for something?" He raised an eyebrow.

The cowboy slid into the booth across from Dean and flashed him a wicked smile, tongue darting out to lick his lips. "Could be?" He purred. Shaking shaggy hair from his face beneath the table, he ran a booted foot up the inside of Dean’s thigh, toe digging into Dean’s crotch.

"Well…" Dean purred, "If you were looking you might find it. Say in twenty minutes…waiting in the alley."

The man quirked one brow at Dean and offered a predatory smile. "I think I might check that alley out." Standing he slipped from the booth and disappeared into the crowd.

                                                                           ***                                  

Sam couldn’t relax and now he was pacing the length of the room, gut telling him he should go find his wayward brother. It shouldn’t be hard it wasn’t as if this town had many bars and more than likely Dean would choose a place where he could shoot some pool. Towns like this one rarely had more than one or two good bars and Sam had a bad feeling.

When he couldn’t take it any longer, he grabbed his jacket and went to head out. A quick glance at his watch confirmed it was coming up on midnight, so he grabbed his knife and revolver tucking them out of sight. Leaving a quick note on the nightstand, he slipped from the motel room and headed to the office.

A young woman sat behind the desk, unlaced Doc Marten’s propped on the counter, watching a horror movie; muffled screams of the latest big-breasted bimbo to bite the dust the only sound other than the buzz of the overhead lights. She snorted as she lit up a slender dark cigarette and inhaled.

"Stupid bitch…" she exhaled a series of smoke rings the bell over the door ringing as Sam stepped into the harsh lit office. She turned taking him in with kohl-lined eyes. "Yeah, can I help you?"

Sam flashed his brightest smile and leaned on the counter. "I’m staying in 204 and I was wondering if maybe you could help me out."

She turned back to the television. "We don’t do that kind of thing here."

Frowning Sam shook his head. "Umm…" his cheeks flushed, “I wasn’t talking about that. I thought you might know where I guy could go for a beer and a few rounds of pool."

"Big Jimmy’s is the only bar with pool tables." She exhaled a cloud of smoke as her boots hit the floor and she ran her fingers through her vampire red hair. Standing she sauntered over to the counter and leaned in with a smirk. "So you want to play pool?"

"Well, yeah…that was the point."

She chuckled. "Go out the door, turn left, and walk down three blocks, can’t miss it."

"Thanks." Sam turned and walked back out the door, but not before, he heard the girl behind him.

"Nice ass, dude."

***

Dean was on his knees, cowboy’s long graceful fingers wrapped in the short strands of his hair, and cock in his mouth. This could’ve been called a blowjob, but to be honest the man was fucking Dean’s mouth with abandon. His hips were pumping in a wild rhythm as Dean tried not to choke on the slick thickness hitting the back of his throat.

"Yeah…pretty boy that’s it…yeah," the man groaned, "knew you had cock sucking lips the minute I saw you. Pretty mouth like yours is only good for this."

Fingers digging into the man’s hipbones Dean blinked tears from his eyes as he breathed through his nose. The taste of pre-cum coated his tongue as he curled it around the hard column of flesh pounding in and out of his mouth. The flavor was growing stronger as the man’s fingers tightened in his hair bringing more tears to his eyes.

"Damn I’m close…yeah pretty boy… gonna make you swallow cum like a good little whore. God I bet that ass of yours is tight as all shit…" his thrusts sped up.

Suddenly bitter, salty fluid hit the back of Dean’s throat and he desperately began swallowing. Above him, the man was crying out in pleasure, head thrown back against the filthy brick wall of the alley.

"Jesus, be praised! Damn you have a fine assed…"

The man never finished his thought as Dean was pushed back mouth empty of everything, but thick cum. Swallowing he glanced up to see Sam pinning the man to the ground, fists battering his face with unbridled fury.

"You son of a bitch!" Sam roared over the sound of fists on flesh.

Dean was on his feet and grabbing Sam’s collar pulling him off the whimpering man with as much strength as he could muster. "What the fuck are you doing, Sam?" He yelled as the man in question back peddled along the ground, one hand clutched to his bloody nose, and the other trying to tuck his spit-slicked limp cock back in his jeans.

Turning on his brother Sam grabbed Dean’s face, staring into his eyes, noting his swollen lips and sheen of cum. "Jesus Dean…what happened? Are you okay?"

With a growl, Dean wrenched away from Sam’s grip. "I’m fine you stupid fuck!" he snapped. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Dean…I…" a sudden light of realization lit Sam’s wide eyes.

"Yeah…that’s right, Sam!" Dean growled. "You’re brother’s a whore! Now get the fuck away from me!" He turned on heel storming out of the alley and toward the parking lot.

For a second, Sam stood there froze staring at his brother’s back and then he shook himself, glancing down at his bloody fists he tasted the familiar bitterness of bile. Glancing up he headed after Dean, long strides eating up the ground between them in record time, and grabbed Dean’s shoulder spinning him around. "What the hell was that?" He snapped.

Dean’s eyes flashed in anger. "That!" he poked Sam in his chest, "was none of your fucking business, Sammy-boy!"

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam screamed. "What the fuck could you’ve been thinking?"

"I was thinking I’d go out…have a bit of fun!"

"Fun?" he laughed hysterically. "That was you getting your mouth raped by some fucking ya-hoo in a dirty back alley!"

"Like I said…none of your fucking business, dude!" Dean walked the last few feet to the Impala and wrenched the door open, sliding into the driver’s seat, and slamming the door behind him.

A few seconds later the car was gone in a cloud of dust and Sam was left alone in the parking lot. He stared after the car and sucked in a deep breath trying to calm the fear and anger boiling in the pit of his stomach. Tears welled in his eyes as he released the breath and his nails dug bloody crescents in his palms.

"Jesus, Dean," he whispered, "what’s happening to you?"

The darkness offered no answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean nearly wrecked the Impala three times before he pulled off on a side road, beneath the low-hanging branches of a copse. The headlights faded away leaving him in darkness, only the milky moonlight his companion, dappling the hood of the Impala, and bleaching the perfect glossy blackness to an inky blue. Fingers curled tight around the curve of the steering wheel, his knuckles blanched from the pressure as Dean stared straight into the night, eyes hidden in shadow.

Why the fuck wouldn’t Sam let it go? He wondered.

Why did he have to push and push until Dean felt as if his skull would cave in?

Sucking in a ragged breath, his head fell forward against the steering wheel. He licked his lips, tasting the ghost of a stranger’s cum on bruised skin, and furious tears.

Sam didn’t fucking understand. How could he? He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been the one who—

His thoughts trailed off as he sat up, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve, smell of worn leather comforting. He’d hoped maybe, just maybe, he could forget, but he couldn’t. The darkness was there even when he was awake, hiding in every corner, despite the glaring brilliance of the sun. He could never run fast enough or far enough. The only time it didn’t haunt him was when he was on his knees, being used by any number of men. He couldn’t even touch a woman now. What woman would want a ghastly thing like him? His breath hitched as he tried to force the tears down. He could hear each breath whistle in his chest as he tried.

"Damn it…" he mumbled as the phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open.

Sam.

Of course, it was Sam.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. He had to get some sleep and he knew if he went back to the motel Sam would be doing his best to impersonate Sergeant Joe Friday from Dragnet. God knows the boy could out do even Friday in the tenacity department. Sam was like a pit bull on a ham bone when he set his mind to it. Hell, his stubbornness was part of the reason he and Dad had parted on such bad terms.

Sighing, Dean curled on his side the phantom aches of a long ago nightmare fading as he drifted off. The full moon was the only witness to the tears staining his face.

***

"You look like your best friend ran off with your woman and killed your hound dog, son."

Sam looked up with bloodshot eyes from the thin skin of foam on his mug of beer and met a pair of warm chocolate eyes. The bartender, he thought, as he made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, beer mug cupped in trembling hands as he brought it to his lips.

"You know sometimes it helps to talk about it, son." The elder man cocked his head, bone white eyebrow rising in worry as he watched Sam drink, hands shaking. "You look like you could use a friend right about now."

"Don’t wanna talk…" Sam mumbled as he set the mug down.

The old man snorted eyes rolling, "Didn’t ask if you wanted to talk. I swear you kids now days." He shook his head and went back to polishing ashtrays.

Before he could stop his rebellious tongue, he spoke. "It’s my brother." As the words slipped past his lips, he cursed himself. Staring down into the remains of his beer Sam sighed, long fingers dancing along the rim.

"Brothers and women, two biggest pains in a man’s life." he pulled out a bottle of bourbon, two shot glasses and slapped them on the counter. "Like I said," he opened the bottle top and poured two shots, "sometimes it helps to talk." Pushing one shot across the bar, he lifted the other in a salute, before tossing it back.

Sam stared down at the shot and contemplated refusal to drink. After a curious look from the elder bartender, he picked up the shot and tossed it back. The bourbon wasn’t like some drinks it went down smooth and warmed the cold knot growing in the pit of his stomach. He sat the shot glass down and met the old man’s steady gaze.

"I think he’s broken and can’t be fixed." His voice sounded too childish to him as the tears started to fall. "I can’t fix him and it hurts."

The bartender poured another shot and pressed it to his trembling fingers. "Son, it sounds to me like he ain’t the only one broken."

Sam lifted his head, eye shiny, and gave him a quizzical glance.

"Look, I been around the block a few times and know a broken man when I see one." He sighed pouring himself another shot of bourbon. "One broken man can’t fix another."

When Sam replied there was no conviction in his words. "I’m not broken."

The bartender raised his shot glass and tipped it back, eyes focused on Sam’s drawn and pinched face. The shot glass hit the bar as he licked his lips, smiling. "That so, kid?"

***

It was dark. Too damn dark to see, to breathe, but he could feel and he could hear.

He could hear its laughter, thick and sludge like, sucking all the air from his lungs as he fought to breathe. It brushed against his skin, rough and rasping whispers in his ears that vibrated down to the marrow of his bones.

Nothing he could do could stop it—nothing.

It was pushing up inside him and he began to scream.

***

"Calm down there, son!"

Dean swallowed the next scream as the bright beam of a flashlight blinded him and then drew back. His chest was heaving so hard he felt as if he’d ran for ten miles straight without stopping or slowing, "Who? What?" He gasped from between sawdust dry lips.

The woman leaned forward careful not to hit him direct in the eyes with the flashlight, "Officer Morgan, Tennessee Highway Patrol." She replied pointing out the badge on her jacket. "You okay, son? I didn’t mean to startle you, but a strange car hiding in the bushes has a tendency to make the locals twitch."

"Sorry, I was driving into Delphi to meet my brother." Dean cleared his throat and shook the last vestiges of the nightmare away. "Started getting tired and decided to pull over get some sleep." He rubbed at his eyes as he glanced at the middle age woman.

"You okay, Morgan?" A male voice called from the darkness.

"Yeah, Titweller, just an exhausted motorist, that’s all, made him about piss himself." Morgan turned back with a shake of her head. "If you can give me a gander at your license and registration I’ll be on my way."

Nodding Dean fumbled in his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and removed his license, registration, and proof of insurance. All quite valid and provided by a friend of his dad’s after the fucking fiasco in St. Louis. After all Dean Winchester was dead and buried, a serial killer stopped by an extremely brave young woman who’d saved his own brother. Shame he never got the credit for being the hero, although he didn't feel much like a hero.

Morgan glanced down at the driver’s license and then back up. "So, Christopher or do you prefer Chris, Mr. Waters?"

"Chris is fine, ma’am." Dean tried for his best smile, but he could tell it fell flat.

"Well, Chris looks like you’re all set. Though I have to wonder why you and your brother are down here." She handed him everything back.

"I’m passing through and he said he might have lined up a job. We’re in freelance construction." He tried the smile again and this time he barely made it.

"Well, you ain’t but ten miles south of Delphi. So I’d suggest you head on in to town and grab you a room."

She flashed him a smile and headed back out of the bushes as Dean started up the Impala and backed out onto the road. He had no desire to go back to the hotel, but you didn’t fuck with cops, at least not state patrol, and especially not if you happen to be an accused and supposedly dead serial killer. As he pulled past the patrol car, he smiled and waved, turning onto the highway to head back toward Delphi and his pit bull of a brother.

***

Everything the old man said to Sam hit a raw spot in his gut. He was right. Sam knew he’d pushed aside his own pain to deal with Dean, after all his pain had been due to—

Well, that was a good question, he thought, as he lay on his bed staring at the water stained ceiling. What exactly had happened in Abington Four Corners? Why had he been manifesting physical trauma that mirrored Dean’s trauma? Okay, so that was more than one question, he thought as a demented drunken giggle escaped him.

He hadn’t given any of it much thought and to be honest there was a great deal, but one of the biggest things he’d refused to think about was that moment in the hospital. He remembered being in the back of Bronwen’s jeep, he recalled the pain, and then nothing until he’d seen Jessica. His throat tightened as he closed his eyes against the swirling shadows and memories of blood and fire.

"Jess…" he whispered as tears threatened to fall.

Even now, a year after her death, the nightmares haunted him. There were other nightmares though that had joined those. After Chicago, leaving their father behind had left another wound, and each monster they consigned to hell had added even more. He’d been so wrapped up in finding their dad he hadn’t realized how much pain both of them were suffering.

He shifted to his side, tugging the blankets around him and wondered if Dean would return. Dean had been furious, but there was fear and sadness in his eyes as well. God he hated this, he hated being estranged from his brother and this was far worse than it’d ever been. He had no idea what to say or do, and it was killing him daily as he watched Dean lash out at himself.

A sigh slipped from his lips as he let sleep or rather what passed for sleep draw him in. It was better he not think about it too damn much because if he did he just might beat Dean to the reaper’s embrace.

***

At some point during the night, Dean returned. Sam heard him as he tried to slip in without waking him, but Sam hadn’t had an honest night’s sleep since they’d left Connecticut behind. He’d tried to, God knew he had, but the nightmares when they weren’t haunting his sleep were haunting his brother. Then as sudden as they began they had stopped and for a few months, Sam thought maybe it was over. That’s when he’d found the pills.

Tiny pink and blue capsules, hundreds of them in an unmarked bottle tucked away in the bottom of Dean’s duffel. He’d only been looking for the whetstone to sharpen his hunting knife, but instead he discovered the reason the Dean’s dreams had stopped waking him. Dean was self-medicating himself with pills. He’d snagged one terrified of what they might be doing to his brother and headed to the nearest pharmacy.

The pharmacist was a kindly old man with watery grey-blue eyes who explained they were Restoril, a prescription sleeping pill. Only 7.5 milligrams, he’d explained to Sam, nothing to worry about as long as his brother wasn’t drinking alcohol or taking more than one a night. Sam knew he was drinking and knew he would more than likely not care how many it would take to do the job.

That same night Sam had flushed every damn last one of those innocuous little pills down the toilet. Dean wasn’t a fool and he damn well knew what happened to his pills. He’d cursed a blue streak and then vanished into the night only to return like tonight so drunk he couldn’t see straight.

Self-medication was self-medication whether it was narcotics or alcohol.

Now those thoughts were swimming in Sam’s skull as he swallowed back the taste of utter defeat and listened to Dean stumbled in, drunken and clumsy. He bit his lip as he listened to Dean’s soft cursing and the thud as he hit the mattress. For the next few minutes, he lay as still as he could intent on Dean’s breathing until it eased into an even rhythm and finally slipped into snoring. As soon as the snoring started, Sam rolled over eyes shining in the dark as he studied Dean; out cold stretched on his back, arms and legs flung at awkward angles, and still fully dressed.

Slipping from the bed, Sam started his nightly ritual as he did on every night like this one. He carefully tugged Dean’s boots and socks off tossing them to the floor. Lifted Dean from the bed to slip his coat off and then he’d strip his jeans off. Afterward he’d get an extra blanket from the closet and toss it over Dean, and then go back to his own bed.

He’d perch there, wrapped in his blankets, and spend the remainder of the night watching over Dean, a mythical guardian angel. Sometimes sleep would come and other times not, but it didn’t seem to matter. Dean never acknowledged the fact Sam had taken care of him in the wee hours of the early morning.

It was another of those things they never spoke of among so many others.

***

Sam only dozed off for maybe an hour when he was woke this time not by Dean making a drunken ass of himself, but rather a soft whimpers he’d come to recognize. It didn’t matter how much JD his brother drank tonight, Sam thought, as he shifted to the edge of the mattress, those damn nightmares were alive tonight.

Blinking sleep from his eyes his attention focused on the other bed. Dean was curled in a tight ball, blanket lying in a twisted mass at the foot of the bed, and his entire body trembling. Sam crept from his bed and slipped in behind him, covers in tow, and now he was closer he could hear words entwined with the small painful noises.

"…no…no…leave Sammy alone…don’t hurt him…"

Sam pulled him close and felt his brother’s breathe hitch in his throat. "Shh…" he wrapped the blankets around his trembling body, "Everything’s okay, Dean. You’re safe…I’m safe…"

"No…please no…" Dean’s voice rose as he thrashed against Sam’s embrace, tears seeping from beneath damp lashes.

Tightening his grip, Sam whispered nonsense words and noises in his brother’s ear. He fought k the urge to vomit as he crushed him to his chest and felt his muscles draw taunt like a violin string. Dean’s eyes flew open, mouth contorting in one endless scream and the sound ripped Sam’s heart right out of his chest.

"Dean! Dean, wake up!" Sam held on as if his life depended on it. Dean stared right through him as he writhed and screamed in pain and Sam thought he was definitely going to heave. "Jesus, Dean, wake up!"

Rolling them over, he pinned Dean to the bed and gagged at the utter fear in his brother’s eyes; something he never thought he would ever see. With a deep breath, Sam drew back his hand and slapped him across the face. Its affect was immediate, scream cutting off. Dean blinked once, twice, and then his eyes rolled back in his head, body going limp.

"Jesus…" Sam panted, fingers searching for a pulse in desperation. Finally, he felt one beneath his jaw and he released a breath he was unaware he’d been holding. "Dean…can you hear me?"

The only reply was Dean’s soft even breathes. It was as if the past ten minutes had never happened. Sam pulled him into his arms, long arm curled around his brother’s waist, and the other tucked beneath the pillows. Burying his face into the nape of Dean’s neck he lay there breathing in his brother’s scent until he fell asleep.

***

When Sam woke up the next morning Dean was at the table, searching the Internet, cup of coffee next to him and mouth wrapped around a breakfast sandwich. Dean gave him a sidelong glance when he sat up scrubbing bloodshot eyes, and swallowed the bite he’d taken.

"Hungry, dude?"

Sam yawned, "Coffee?"

Nodding to the bedside table Dean’s attention went back to the laptop as he sipped his coffee. "I think I might have found us another job."

Another yawn, this one louder, escaped Sam as he swung his legs over the edge of the sagging mattress. "You okay?" He grabbed the coffee cup, popped the lid and let out an orgasmic sigh as the rich aroma filled his nose.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" Dean snorted around a mouthful of sausage and egg biscuit. "I wasn’t the one who crawled into my brother’s bed last night." He chuckled as he took another swallow of his coffee.

Sam frowned, he didn’t want to fight with Dean, but it seemed fighting with him was what fate had planned. "You were having a nightmare last night." He sipped his coffee and then stood to stretch, tail of his tee shirt riding high.

Another snort drifted from Dean’s direction. "I don’t have nightmares, man. That’s your hobby, Haley Joe."

"Dean." Sam’s voice lowered in warning.

"Don’t Sam."

"Don’t what, Dean?" Sam growled. "Don’t ask you why you were blowing some complete stranger in a dirty alley? Don’t ask why you keep doing stupid shit on hunts that’ll get you killed? Don’t ask why you wake up screaming in terror? What is it, Dean, you don’t want me to ask?"

Dean stood kicking the chair back. "Shut the fuck up and go take a shower Sam!" He turned back to the table slammed the laptop shut, slipping it into Sam’s bag. "You know some of us don’t have the luxury of being all emo. Some of us have to deal and get on with it."

"Dean." Sam’s voice softened.

"Just don’t."

Without another word, he grabbed his bags and headed to the Impala leaving Sam standing alone and feeling more helpless than he'd ever felt. Dean had always been the strong one, the big brother, all he’d been missing was the big red ‘S’ on his tee-shirt, but now—

Sam drank the last of his coffee and turned away from the bright rectangle of sunlight that seemed so damn normal. It didn’t seem right, he thought, the sun shouldn’t be shining so bright when his world was collapsing. Grabbing his bag he turned away and headed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

It simply wasn’t right.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite it being October it was summer warm in Illinois, fields were harvested beyond the River Road, and the Mississippi wound alongside the road, muddy waters swirling and ebbing against the rocky beach. Sam stared out the open window watching the distant Missouri shore and the blur of the autumn trees, wind lifting his hair, and whipping it in his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to Dean since they’d gotten on the road and that had been almost six hours ago. The only sound in the car the faint strains of Hotel California drifting from the tape player.

Turning from the colorful vista, he glanced at Dean, but he seemed lost in the winding ribbon of asphalt as the Impala ate up the miles. His features were set in stone, dark smudges beneath his eyes more apparent in the autumn sunlight. Sam sat quiet for a few minutes studying his brother’s face until Dean spoke first, voice rough.

"What?" His eyes never left the road as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

"I was wondering what this job was."

"Hannibal."

"Hannibal?" Sam lifted one eyebrow, "As in Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer?"

"Yep." he slowed the car as it moved around a sharp curve and Sam saw the lighthouse on the other side of the river, tall and proud on a steep bluff. "See that lighthouse?"

Sam nodded, attention focused on the white shingled edifice. "Yeah."

"Well, local paper has reported sightings of a spirit up there." Dean turned onto MO 79 and started across the river, "Seems it’s a hangout for the local teens…sort of a make out point."

"You do realize it’s close to Halloween?" Sam snorted.

"And what’s your point, dude?"

"Halloween…teenagers…" Sam rolled his eyes, "make out point? Come on Dean."

Dean turned his eyes back to the road. "Whatever."

Sam sighed, scent of river silt drifting up from the tumultuous waters below. If Dean wanted to do this fine, it’d be a nice change of pace. A few quiet days in a small river town wouldn’t hurt either of them actually it might be just what the doctor ordered.

***

Their first stop was the local Quik Trip outside Hannibal. Sam figured they needed gas and Dean probably wanted to load up on junk food. He honestly didn’t care because after six hours in the car his bladder was ready to burst. As Dean filled the tank, Sam slipped from car and headed inside making a beeline for the bathrooms.

Taking care of business he slipped out of the bathroom and headed back to the coolers lining the back wall, their frosted glass promised to quench Sam’s dry mouth. As he perused the coolers, his ears perked up as he overheard two young women talking and giggling at the end of the row. Peering up from beneath his bangs, he spotted two twenty something girls dressed in low rider jeans and layered tanks. One had a waterfall of dark auburn curls down her back and wide blue eyes, the other an angular cut highlighting high cheekbones, hair raven black, and skin milk white. She was snorting at the red head as she reached in the cooler pulling out a four pack of malted liquor.

"Come on, Katie." She rolled her eyes handing over the four-pack and reached for another. "I have the best gay-dar this side of the Mississippi and he was most definitely gay."

Katie apparently didn’t agree. "Don’t be silly, Jinx. Did you see that car? Definite macho-mobile it’s a classic."

Suddenly it dawned on Sam who they were discussing. He headed down the aisle trying to be casual without being caught listening in on their private conversation. He couldn’t believe for a second these two attractive young women could be arguing over his brother’s sexuality. Dean was the biggest flirt he’d ever known in his life and sometimes an overbearing need for the opposite sex.

Jinx groaned. "Jesus Christ, Katie he didn’t even give you a second glance and trust me you are the best damn flirt in this town. Sometimes it’s just downright sickening how many men trip over their feet for a look from you."

Katie mock punched Jinx as they headed toward the counter and Sam watched them with narrow eyes, especially Katie. She was a classic example of the kind of woman Dean liked—curvaceous, outgoing, and beautiful. He frowned as he grabbed a Coke from the cooler and headed to the counter himself. Getting in line, he noticed Dean as he walked in and the frown deepened.

His brother’s shoulders were slumped, eyes averted to the floor, and there was an air of desperate sadness surrounding him. Now that he thought about it over the last six months, he’d only really seen Dean flirt with maybe one or two women and only then when he was seeking information on cases they’d been working. Slowly Sam began to realize there was even more wrong with Dean than he’d first suspected and he wanted to kick himself. How in the hell had he missed the fact the man who’d walked away from Abington Four Corners was not the brother he’d known his entire life?

"Will that be all, sir?"

Sam shook himself from his thoughts and flashed a smile at the young woman behind the counter. "Yeah." he reached for his wallet and then paused. "Actually, I was wondering if maybe you knew anything about this ghost I read about in the local paper. My brother and I are sort of amateur ghost hunters."

The young woman’s eyes widened. "You mean the Lighthouse Lady?" It came out a tight squeak as she leaned closer. "I can’t say anything right now, but if you come back around six I can tell you whatever you want." Her face paled. "Some people here don’t take kind to speculation."

Nodding Sam paid for his drink as Dean joined him at the counter. "Sure, no problem…"

"Cissy…Cissy Jacobs." she ducked her head as she handed him his change.

"Thanks, Cissy." Sam turned to Dean who was perusing the magazines beneath the counter top. "I’ll see you in the car, okay?"

Dean nodded as he flipped through a copy of the latest Car & Driver. "Sure."

Sam thought he should say something else, but he figured it could all wait until they were alone no need to air dirty laundry in public. He grabbed his soda and headed out the door, other hand digging into his jacket pocket for his phone as he headed across the parking lot.

***

Leaning against the passenger side of the Impala, Sam waited as the number he’d dialed rang and he held his breath. He needed to talk to someone before his head exploded with everything skewering his brain. There was only one person he could be open with and it’d been six months since he’d spoke to her. She was the only one who would understand what was going on in his head.

"Hello?"

Sam sucked in a deep breath, chewing on his lower lip, "Wen?"

There was a moment of silence and then Bronwen Ingley’s voice came back, tiny hitch in the words. "Sam Winchester? Oh, sweet Goddess." she cleared her throat. "How have you been?"

He scratched at the back of his neck as he stared at his sneakers. "I…" he swallowed fighting tears, "it’s bad, Wen—real bad."

"Dean." She whispered. "Talk to me, Sam. How bad is it?"

"I’ve been so damn stupid." He ran a free hand through his hair. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do."

"Where are you?"

Sam sniffed as he rubbed burning eyes. "We came into Hannibal, Missouri a few minutes ago. We’re here to investigate a spirit sighting, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I think he’s just trying to…well…you know avoid what’s going on."

Bronwen cleared her throat. "What is going on, Sam?"

"He’s been so distant and yeah that’s Dean, but this is different. I can’t believe I didn’t see this. It’s like I’ve been blind for…"

"Sweetie, _do not_ blame yourself for any of this. I told Dean he needed to talk to you and I’m assuming he didn’t listen. Big surprise there." she chuckled. "He’s a stubborn fuck, Sam. You know that better than anyone…it’s how he survived what he went through, but you know there are things more terrible than death."

Leaning back, Sam stared up at the clear sky. "Yeah, I know."

"Don’t give up on him…promise me that. Your brother is a good man. He simply needs more than he wants to admit."

"And what would that be?"

"You silly boy…he needs you."

Shaking his head Sam smiled a real smile for the first time in months. "You’re still singing that song, Wen. I already told you he’s my brother." He could almost see the quirk of her dark eyebrow when she answered.

"And your point is?"

He was about to answer when he saw Dean coming across the parking lot. "Ummm…can I call you back later? Dean’s coming back."

"Anytime, Sam, take care of him okay."

"Thanks…I will."

Shutting off the phone he glanced up as Dean approached.

"What?"

"Nothing, dude, let’s go find a motel I think I have a lead on your spook." Sam walked around the car and held up his hand, "Keys?"

"Why?" Dean snorted.

"Because I’m driving," Sam grinned. "You’ve been driving for six hours…take a nap of something, man."

Rolling his eyes Dean tossed him the keys and opened the door, sliding into the passenger’s seat. "Nap sounds good. Think you can find a decent motel in this one horse town or do I need to hold your hand, Sammy?"

"Naw, Daddy…I got it." Sam slipped behind the wheel adjusting the seat and starting the engine.

For the first time since Connecticut, he had hope that everything could be fixed between them. Hope he could piece his big brother back together from the shattered pieces a demonic spirit had left behind. With a tiny smile, Sam pulled out on the road and headed for downtown Hannibal.

***

An hour later, they were settled in a nice little family owned motel with reasonable prices, two queen-size beds, small kitchenette, decent bathroom with plenty of hot water and satellite. Dean was starting to lighten up after a long hot shower and a couple of home-cooked dinners from the diner next door.

Sam sat hunched over his laptop working his way through a thick slice of meat loaf in his carryout box. If he stayed for long in Hannibal, he could go soft and fat from the food. With a snicker, he continued to skim the website of a local affiliate, KSDK Channel 5, and spotted a story on ‘The Mark Twain Memorial Lighthouse’.

"What’s so funny?" Dean lay sprawled on his stomach watching _Ghost Hunters_.

"Nothing," Sam popped another piece of meatloaf, deep in thought as he chewed. "Did you know both Franklin Roosevelt and Bill Clinton have dedicated that lighthouse where your spook flits around? It says here the Hannibal Convention and Visitors Bureau had concerns about the vandalism of the lighthouse. Article is dated March of this year."

Dean snorted. "So, what has that got to do with the price of tea in China, dude?"

"Well, maybe this spook story came from people who saw vandals on Cardiff Hill at night."

"Cardiff Hill?" he shifted to his side looking at Sam with a confused expression.

Sam sipped his beer and switched windows. "Yeah, that’s the name of the cliff where the lighthouse stands. Looks like solid limestone and shale."

"And I would care about that why?" Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the television.

"Because maybe what these people saw is a recording. Some places containing certain minerals in the rocks have been known to act as natural recording devices. There’s this rock in Japan where the cries of ship wreck victims were recorded within it and in certain weather conditions it plays those voices back."

Dean let out a frustrated noise, turned off the television, sat up and scrubbed at his face. "That would be great except for one thing Einstein. Those are voices and not images." He stood and crossed the room retrieving their father’s journal. Flipping it open, he frowned. "I think maybe I have an answer though…"

"In dad’s journal?" he glanced up from the laptop, trying to ignore how pale Dean was as he stepped forward and pushed the journal across the table.

"This is an article from the local paper. Dad kept it for some reason and I didn’t even remember it until you said Cardiff Hill. Check it out." Dean dropped in the chair across the table and watched as he smoothed out the neatly folded article.

A colored photo of a young woman smiled up at him—heart shaped face, long black curls, and vibrant blue eyes. He sighed as he read the article.

***

**LOCAL COLLEGE STUDENT STILL MISSING**

**Police still at a loss as family grieves for their daughter**

_By Harris Culver_

_Hannibal_ _Courier_

_Melanie ‘Mel’ Jenkins, 23, Hannibal native, and student at Washington University in St. Louis, remains missing after three days of intensive searching. Melanie was last seen on October 15 th after she came home for the week to welcome her brother PVC 1st Class Charlie Jenkins home from his second tour of duty in Iraq. A party was held at the Garden House Bed & Breakfast on Saturday, October 15th from 5pm until 1am. The last known sighting of Melanie was around 9pm when she excused herself to have a cigarette in the flower garden. She never returned to the party._

_The missing girl’s vehicle was found later in the parking lot at the base of the stairs leading to ‘The Old Lighthouse’ on Cardiff Hill. Her keys and purse along with her laptop and an expensive array of camera equipment she used in her work as a student were still in the car. Police ruled out robbery, but could not explain why she would be in the area. Crime scene technicians discovered trace evidence including blood, hair and fiber, and other fluids. The evidence has been sent to the FBI crime lab in St. Louis and local police are waiting for the results as of this writing._

_Search teams were dispersed at the Garden House property as well as Cardiff Hill and the surrounding woods on Sunday afternoon when it was discovered Melanie hadn’t returned home. Police K-9 Corps from the Missouri State Highway Patrol along with a number of other local police departments, and volunteers from as far away as St. Louis have searched for the past three days with no hope in sight._

_Continued on page 4A_

***

Sam glanced up. "So why would Dad keep this?"

"Don’t know, but I’m betting Melanie Jenkins never left Hannibal." Dean rocked back in the chair, lower lip caught between his teeth. "As a matter of fact…I’m betting Melanie is our spirit."

A shiver slid down Sam’s spine as he glanced back down at the smiling young woman in the photo. She was his age—Jess’ age—and Sam understood how her family must feel. A bright beautiful young woman, gone in a split second, but at least he knew what had happened to Jess. No matter how painful it was it had to be better than never knowing where your daughter was or what had happened to her.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"Do you think she killed herself? Maybe jumped off the cliff into the river?"

Dean shook his head, focusing on the floor, "Maybe or she was murdered. Either way it’s a violent death and we’re talking vengeful spirit which means we’re basically screwed—no bones to burn."

Standing up Sam crossed the room, dropped his empty beer bottle in the trash. "We have to be sure." He glanced at his watch. "I need the keys, Dean." He turned holding out his hand.

Brows shooting up Dean grinned. "Why?"

"I have someone I’m meeting."

"You got a hot date already, Sammy?"

"No, stupid," Sam snorted. "That girl from the Quik Trip earlier when I asked her about our mysterious spook and she said she’d talk to me around six. She seemed nervous so I think it’d be best if I met her alone."

Chair legs dropping to the floor, Dean stood and pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Sam, crossed the room to drop on the bed and turned on the television. Clutching the keys in his fist until the metal bit into his palm, Sam grabbed his knapsack and headed for the door feeling like a complete shit. He shouldn’t leave Dean alone, but he’d get pissed if Sam acted as if he needed a baby-sitter. As he opened the door, he heard Dean call out from behind him.

"You mess up my car, bitch, I’ll kick your ass."

Shaking his head, Sam slipped out without a word and shut the door behind him.

***

Sam spotted her as he pulled into the parking lot. She sat on the concrete wall surrounding the dumpster next to the store; dressed in faded jeans and a baggy Tommy Hilfiger tee shirt, sneakered feet bouncing in a nervous rhythm, and a cigarette dangled from her fingers. He slid the Impala into the nearest parking spot and killed the engine, and then took a deep breath before exiting the car.

She glanced up flicking ash from the tip of the cigarette and took a deep drag, "Didn’t think you’d show up. If you were smart you wouldn’t have."

"Why?" Sam cocked one eyebrow as he joined her on the wall.

"Because," she exhaled smoke staring up at the sky, "some things people don’t want to know."

Sam stared out across the parking lot watching as cars whizzed along the road. "I get that I really do. So, what kind of things do people not want to know in Hannibal?"

"Don’t want to know there’s a killer roaming free in their homey little river town." she flipped the butt out into the parking lot, watching as it skidded across the cracked pavement. "That’s why she’s up there showing herself."

"So, you know who this ghost is?" Sam focused on her face, noting the tight muscles in her jaw.

"Maybe." she retrieved a crushed pack of Marlboro Red’s from her shirt pocket and pulled out another cigarette. She sat quiet, playing with the cigarette, twirling it between her calloused fingers, blood red polish flaking from her nails. "There was this girl who vanished last fall…"

"Melanie Jenkins."

Cissy flipped the cigarette up and between her lips, lighting it. "How’d you know that?"

"I read the paper."

"Yeah, well they didn’t find her because she’s dead." She inhaled deep staring out across the parking lot, eyes unfocused. "You’re like me."

Sam turned looking at her in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You see things don’t you? You’re a freak like me." Her eyes focused from the street to her hands where they lay trembling in her lap. "I knew it when I saw you earlier. People with purple auras always are."

He blinked and let her words sink in. "You see auras?"

"Yep, always thought when I was little everyone saw them." She lifted the cigarette to her lips and took another drag. "Found out that wasn’t the case so I quit talking about it. I can always tell when someone is different." She looked into Sam’s eyes. "What can you do?"

"Visions…and once I moved something."

"Cool…telekinesis. My mom says all Cameron women are touched—that’s her maiden name." She studied Sam and then frowned. "Your aura’s strange though…bright as the noon day sun. You’re mighty powerful…"

"Sam." He offered. "Sam Winchester."

"Nice to meet you, Sam." she grinned again, flashing a gold tooth. "So if you know about Melanie why you here asking me?"

"Well, like I said my brother and I…"

"Amateur ghost-busters." she snorted. "You’re full of shit, Sam. You ain’t no amateur, you been doing this for a long time. So, you come here to put her to rest?"

"Yeah," Sam grinned, "…I suppose we are."

"Then you got to find her bones." Her dark eyes focused on Cardiff Hill in the distance and the lighthouse glowing white in the evening light. "Her bones are up there somewhere, Sam Winchester and she ain’t gonna go easy. She wants justice…she wants the bastard who did this to pay. You gonna give her justice?"

Sam’s gaze drifted to the lighthouse, a cold rush travelling through him, "If I can."

"Good."

Cissy dropped off the wall, turned, and without another word walked away, leaving Sam to wonder how many freaks like him existed. It seemed he kept meeting them or maybe he was drawn to them. Releasing a soft breathe he got in the car and started the engine. Sometimes his life was a never-ending joke, he thought, as he headed back to the motel.

***

He had the itch again.

He hated being alone in this fucking hotel room, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t stand the looks Sam had been giving him for the past two days. The looks had become worse after he’d interrupted him in that alley. Pacing the room Dean ran his fingers through his hair and growled low in his throat as he lashed out kicking the chair so hard he sent it flying into the wall where it shattered.

If only—

He stared down at the shattered chair. Fuck it, he thought, who gave a shit what Sam thought. Actually, fuck Sam. Dean knew what he needed and he knew there was a bar down the road. Grabbing his jacket, he gave the chair another kick for good measure and stormed from the motel room, door slamming behind him.

***

 _Maxie’s_ was the kind of bar your mother would have warned you about. But, then Dean hadn’t had a mother—had he? Damn demon had made sure of it.

It was a roadhouse, roustabout hangout, where sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll took on a different meaning. The drudges of humanity hung out in places like this, Dean thought as he walked in with far more confidence than he had to be truthful. He took in the scattered wooden tables, long crowded bar, and sawdust covered floor—the better to soak up vomit and blood. He strolled to the bar and ordered a beer, scanning the crowd for what he needed.

The impromptu dance floor was crowded with a writhing mass of bodies, sour stench of sweat and stale cigarette smoke thick in the air. He paid for his beer and wandered along the banister surrounding the floor. Men and women, women and women, and even men and men writhed against each other in a twisted parody of sex. Hell for all Dean knew somewhere in the crushing mass people were having sex.

He wandered for bit, letting himself be seen, letting anyone out there know he was available and looking. It was the way places like this worked, well-placed glances, slight shift of the hips, and you were in the game. Leaning against the rail, Dean sipped his beer and waited for the first offer. He knew it wouldn’t be long pretty was always popular and if nothing else Dean Winchester was that—a pretty piece of ass.

***

Pushing open the motel door, hands full of bags from the local market, Sam started to call out only to stop when his eyes settled on the shattered chair. He could feel his gut clench into a tight knot and he dropped the bags to the floor, reaching for the gun tucked in his waistband.

"Dean?"

Even as he searched the room, he knew Dean was gone. Pushing open the bathroom door, he confirmed what he already knew. Dean had left and God only knew where he’d gone off too. Although, Sam had a damn good idea where, probably the roadhouse they’d seen as they came off the bridge into Missouri.

"God damn it, Dean." He cursed and dropped to the bed. "I should have made you come with me. I should have insisted." Laying his gun on the mattress he leaned over, elbows propped on his knees, and chin resting on the heels of his hands. "This is the last thing I needed."

Taking a deep breath, Sam tried to ease the anger in his gut now rising to his chest and wondered what the hell was he suppose to do now. If he stayed here, Dean might get hurt or God knew what else. If he went after Dean, they’d be at one another’s throats within seconds. Exhaling his eyes closed and he recalled what Bronwen had said—Take care of him. She was right. They were family and that was what family did.

"Shit."

Sam stood gathered the bags from where he dropped them and tucked away items that needed to be refrigerated. Leaving the rest on the table, he retrieved his gun, checked the clip, tucked it in the back of his jeans and headed out the door.

***

The first offer was a woman and her boyfriend, both dressed in black leather. He was hesitant, but the man stroked his jaw staring into his eyes with full out lust. As the man’s thumb caressed his lips, they parted and he found himself sucking on the man’s thumb, tasting salty skin. His eyes locked on the man’s and he knew he had what he needed.

"He’s pretty, Jody" the woman purred, "your cock as pretty as the rest of you, baby?" Dean lowered his eyes to the floor and she giggled. "Oh, he’s a shy one."

Jody grinned. "My Beck likes to suck cock…now me I like other things."

Breathe harsh, Dean accepted the woman’s offered hand and allowed himself to be led through the crowd. Jody stood close behind, beefy arms wrapped around Dean’s waist in a move meant to tell all others he had this one. This was the first time he’d allowed a woman to touch him in months, it felt wrong, but the sound of the music seeped beneath his skin, and he found himself being washed away in a blur of color and sound.

They led him into a back room and Jody’s strong arms lifted his body, pushing him back onto a table so he was perched on the edge. Dean watched Beck with glazed eyes as she knelt at his feet smiling and began pulling off his boots. He tried to open his mouth and ask questions, but Jody’s rough kiss cut off anything he might have said, whiskers scraping his face. His lips opened to the kiss as he felt hands unbuckle his belt and slowly work open his fly.

Groaning his lips parted further and a tongue slid between them, inside his mouth. Jody tasted of smoke, barbecue sauce, and whiskey as he painted the inside of Dean’s mouth with his tongue. Losing himself in the sensation of teeth, tongues, and hands Dean began to forget the itch that had brought him here. It was like being engulfed by an octopus and he couldn’t think straight as he felt his jeans and underwear being tugged off. He tried to push Jody away, but he had no strength, he felt as if he was swimming in syrup.

"No." he mumbled eyes rolling back in his head. He felt his body drifting down to the table feather light and he tried to fight it, but he couldn’t.

"Oh, he is shy." Beck purred as she stood one manicured nail tracing his cheekbone as Jody stepped between his legs. "Hush, pretty boy…Beck and Jody will make it all better." She stepped around the table and began massaging his temples.

The sound of a zipper being lowered was abnormally loud in his ears and then he felt something slick and hard press between his ass cheeks. He whimpered in the back of his throat as he realized they’d slipped him something. His throat and mouth went bone dry as Beck’s fingers encircled his semi-erect cock, stroking and squeezing as Jody’s cock began to push into him.

Dean panted as he tried to squirm away, but the drug made it impossible. It felt so good, but at the same time, bitter fear coated his tongue. He’d offered up his mouth to any man he’d come across, but never this. Not since, _it_ had touched him. Opening his mouth to scream he felt a hand press against his lips, cutting off his ability to speak, muffling the whimper rising in his throat.

"Hush now…it’ll only hurt for a minute and then it’ll feel so good."

The soft click of a gun being cocked came from the door and everything ground to a halt as Dean struggled to lift his head the room swimming in and out of focus. He fell back against the hard wood of the table and whimpered as the darkness began to seep in at the edges of his already blurred vision.

"Who the hell are you?" Jody growled.

"Get off him or I swear to God I’ll put a hole between your eyes."

Struggling beneath Jody’s weight Dean moaned. His eyes blurry and unfocused settled on the tall shadow filling the door. Suddenly the hand was gone from his mouth and he tried to cry out, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate.

"This ain’t your business." Jody’s voice wasn’t as steady this time, but the pressure between Dean’s ass cheeks disappeared. "He wanted this."

"Maybe I’ll blow your fucking balls off first." There was a pause as the figure stepped closer. "Now get the fuck off him. Don’t make me ask again."

Jody lifted his hands in surrender. "Can I?" He nodded to his naked crotch and shriveling erection.

"Get the fuck out now."

The sound of Jody’s boots slapping on the concrete floor followed by the click of Beck’s heels dug into Dean’s drug addled brain and then the figure was leaning closer. He tried to form words to thank his rescuer, but he was drowning in the haze. He trembled as he tried to set up, but his body was definitely not listening as large gentle hands pulled him close to a warm body.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

He knew the voice, he thought, right before the drug pulled him under. "Sammy…" he moaned.

"You’re okay, Dean. I got you, man."


	4. Chapter 4

"No!"

Dean knew that voice. He also knew the tone. Sam.

"Son, are you sure?" A deeper, male voice replied with a calm efficiency.

That was funny, he thought, and had the urge to giggle. Asking Sam if he were sure was like asking for a temper tantrum. He tried to open his eyes. When he managed tiny sparks of rainbow-colored light danced through the air. His stomach surged for a moment and when he allowed them to drift shut the surge calmed. Sam’s voice drifted through the air like a faint scent that made his nose twitch.

"I was there…I got to him in time." there was a worrisome tone to Sam’s words. "There’s no need to put him through more."

Jesus, Sammy, he thought, you worry too damn much. It was with that thought he came to the sudden realization he was in a hospital. He could tell from the cool, antiseptic smell and he tried to open his eyes again. Great his brain was fucked up, he thought as the sparks of color exploded across the blur of the outside world, again.

"I swear one of these days that damn bar is going to be shut down. I’ve had too many people in here over the past couple of years…assaults, rape, and drugs…the highway patrol can never seem to get what they need to shut the place down."

The bar and the image of a room swam into his mind. He’d gone to the bar, he’d wanted the itch under his skin to halt, and there was a man. Dean’s eyes flew open and he gasped. His head spun and vision blurred as he saw the beefy man above him, felt the rough wood beneath him, and a voice—

"Dean? Can you hear me? It’s Sam."

A warm hand stroked his cheek as bile rise in his throat. "Sick…" he mumbled and the hand withdrew.

The entire room spun as he fought to keep from vomiting on himself. Then the warm hands returned helping him sit up. A small pan was pressed forward and he heaved bile filling his mouth as his stomach gave up the ghost, so to speak. Those warm hands stroked his back in gentle soothing circles as he heaved again. Sam’s worried voice reached his ears as he continued to vomit bile.

"Is this normal?"

"It depends on whatever type of drug he was given. Some of the stronger types result in the same type of reactions a junkie might have when they’re going through withdrawals."

"When can…I mean…"

"Blood tests will be back by tonight, son. As soon as we’ve identified what type of substance he ingested, then we can decide if he needs to stay overnight. I imagine he’ll be okay. He more than likely was slipped Rohypnol, but if he was dropped some LSD or X then we might keep him overnight. I’ll leave you two alone now. If you need anything let me know."

"Thanks, Dr. Langhorn."

The nausea eventually passed and Dean slumped back against the cool sheets, head swimming, as his clenched eyes shut in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. "No…need to go." He mumbled.

"Dean?"

He licked his lips, swallowing hard to try and remove the bitter taste from his mouth. "Right, that’s my name…don’t wear it out. Water." a cup pressed to his chapped lips and he drank greedy with thirst. Slowly he opened his eyes the room not quite spinning and focused on his brother’s face, "Where?"

"Marion County Hospital," Sam reached out stroking his perspiration-slicked face, "How’re you feeling, man?"

"Like I’ve been trampled by a herd of goats." he coughed, eyes drifting shut again.

"Not surprising."

"What’s that suppose to mean?" he opened one blood shot eye and glared at Sam.

Sam stood shaking hands threaded through his hair. "What the fuck were you thinking, Dean?" His tone was tight, balanced on the sharp edge between worry and fury. "If I hadn’t gotten there…if I hadn’t made it…"

"What?" he shifted to his side. Dean refused to have this conversation with Sam. It wasn’t any of Sam’s business what he did with his down time.

Sam glared right back at him, voice bitter. "That biker bastard almost…"

Dean rolled over, watery bloodshot eyes focused on his angry expression. "No."

"No, what?" his eyebrows disappeared, beneath his bangs.

"We’re not going to talk about this."

"Fuck you, Dean!" Sam growled. "I’ve had enough of this shit! We will talk about this!" Hands clenched in fists at his sides as he stepped closer to the bed. "That bastard had you spread out like a whore on that table. His cock was two seconds from being shoved up your ass!"

Dean flinched as he sank back into the pillows. "Sam."

"No! Enough is enough!" his eyes shone with numerous emotions before he turned his back to Dean, shoulders slumped. "He almost raped you."

Now there it was laid open like a corpse on a morgue slab. His chest tightened as he tried to control the need to hyperventilate. He’d been refusing to accept that word, even acknowledge it. Men did not get raped. Women were raped, but men were not, he told himself as the urge to vomit rose again. "Sam, don’t…" he choked out.

Sam turned back to the bed. "No more, Dean." His words grated along Dean’s nerves. "I’m so fucking tired of this—talk to me. God, please…just fucking talk to me, man."

He turned away when he saw the first tears well and trail down Sam’s flushed face. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t talk about _that_ , and Sam couldn’t know. "I’m sorry…I can’t." His throat tightened as he fought to push it back down in the dark corner he’d buried it in all those months ago.

"Fine! Then don’t expect me to save your sorry ass next time!" Sam stormed from the room, leaving Dean alone, and feeling colder than he had in a long time.

***

Sam didn’t get further than the garden area of the hospital where visitors came to get a breath of fresh air. Right now, there was no one there, the first signs of a storm moving in from the west having chased them back indoors. He slouched on a concrete bench and released a ragged breath as he watched the green shadowed clouds roll across the sky, blotting out the late morning sunlight. He felt like the sun as if he was being slowly blotted out by the darkness dogging their footsteps since Connecticut.

He understood why Dean refused to talk about it, but it hurt nevertheless. They were brothers and all each other had. He swallowed hard and fought down the urge to be sick. Maybe he should have told Dean he knew what had happened, but he’d been so damn afraid. Had his fear of hurting his brother further made it worse?

"Sam."

He turned and swallowed a surprised gasp, "Wen? Is it really you?"

Bronwen offered him a concerned smile as she crossed the few feet separating them and settled next to him. "Yeah, it’s me." She leaned in arms embracing Sam before he began to sob like a small child. "I’m so sorry, Sam. I should have come sooner."

As the storm rolled in and the first fat cold drops of rain fell, Sam clung to the only person who understood. He had no idea how she’d come to be here, but he gave in to the relief he wasn’t alone in this. It wasn’t as if he could call their dad. After Chicago and the whole disaster with Meg, he knew they couldn’t be together no matter how much he wished they could.

"Hush…" Bronwen whispered against his hair as the storm grew, "it’s going to be okay. I promise you, Sam."

***

"I can’t believe we’re up here. You’re such a dork."

Ginger Deacon was not a happy teenager tonight. She was cold, wet and her boyfriend was totally ignoring her as they trudged through the undergrowth surrounding the lighthouse. Dating the star quarterback and being popular was starting to be a pain in the ass.

"Come on, Gin. It’s not that bad besides don’t you want to see her." Mike Hoffsteder turned and peered at his girlfriend from beneath the hood of his raincoat with a chuckle. "Then we’ll have a great story for Jinx’s party tomorrow night."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, blinking rain from them as the wind howled through the trees, leaves whipping around them. "If my dad finds out I snuck out in the middle of the night with you my ass is so grounded. I don’t think finding an imaginary spook is worth me losing my computer and phone privileges for a month—thank you very much."

"Hey, baby." Mike stepped closer and brushed a wet strand of red hair from her face. "Where’s your sense of adventure?" He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and then turned pushing his way into the brush.

"Yeah, like I said…dork." She mumbled as she headed after him, mud squishing around her canvas sneakers and soaking though to wet her socks. She was so not dressed for this little adventure.

***

Bronwen hadn’t planned on interfering in the situation Sam and Dean were in, despite the fact she had sensed their every move since they’d left Abington Four Corners behind. She hadn’t planned a number of things, but then when had her life been anything she’d planned it to be. Moving into the waiting room, she couldn’t help the tiny smile curling her lips as she focused on Sam.

He was slumped down in the chair, head resting against folded arms, one long leg tucked beneath him, and hair shadowing his eyes. She’d tried to convince him to go back to the motel, but he refused to leave even though he was furious with his brother. Moving across the room, she knelt down setting two cups of coffee on the small table and reached out brushing fingers through his thick hair. Goddess knew she wished things were different, she cared for Sam a great deal, but Mair had been right. Sam couldn’t love her and even if he’d been able to it would’ve been unfair to him to expect anything even close to a normal relationship from her. A guardian wasn’t what she did it was who she was.

"Sam." She whispered, fingers carding through his hair. "Wake up, Sam."

He grunted, rubbing his face along one arm, and then lifted his head with a yawn. "What time is it?" He groaned as he stretched out, working the kinks from his neck.

"Ten-thirty." she handed him a cup of coffee. "You should go talk to him. Let him know you’re still here."

Sam scrubbed at his eyes and then popped the top on the cup, sipping the black coffee. "Dean doesn’t give a damn if I’m here or not."

Frustrated, Bronwen stood and sat down on the coffee table, coffee in hand, and studied Sam for a moment. She took a deep breath and released it. "Bullshit."

Sam snorted. "You weren’t there, Bronwen. You didn’t hear him…didn’t see him…"

"No, I wasn’t." She reached out taking the coffee cup from Sam and setting it aside with her own. Her fingers tangled with his and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, as she squeezed his hands. "Why is it we always hurt the ones we love the most, Sam?"

"Excuse me?" Sam stared at her bowed head, gaze moving down to where their fingers were entangled. "I don’t understand?"

She lifted her head, eyes drifting open, silver light skimming through their emerald depths. "He’s been lashing out at you, pushing you away. Why do you think that is, Sam?"

Caught in those surreal eyes Sam felt his heart leap in his chest. "I don’t know." He fought the urge to get lost in her eyes. "I just don’t know."

"Yes, you do." Her words slid across his skin, silk and fog.

"I…I can’t…"

She smiled, hand lifting to cup his jaw, thumb caressing the bruising beneath his eyes. "You don’t sleep well…you fight what you know is the truth. Why worry what those who don’t understand think? Accept the truth and the pain will fade away."

***

The storm had increased to a terrifying level, black sky cleaved by jagged silver lightening. Ginger huddled on the stoop of the lighthouse, soaked to the skin as Mike dug into his jacket.

"Come on, stupid." She hissed through chattering teeth.

Mike pulled a bolt cutter from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Hang on, fussy britches." He snorted as he caught the rusty chain on the front door between the razor sharp blades and snapped them shut with a twist of his wrist. There was the grating sound of metal on metal and the chain fell, rusty links hitting the wet concrete stoop with a metallic clatter. "See? It wasn’t that hard."

"Yeah, whatever Mike. Let’s get out of this goddamn storm. I’m freezing and soaked." Ginger snapped as Mike turned the knob and the door swung inward with a shriek of rusty hinges. "It’s awfully dark in there?" She whispered moving closer to Mike, cold, numb fingers clenching at the slick material of his raincoat.

Snickering Mike reached beneath his coat and pulled out a heavy Maglight. "I borrowed Alan’s light. Remember I was a boy-scout, always be prepared, that’s the motto." Flashing a lop-sided grin over his shoulder, he pushed the door open further and stepped into the shadows, beam cutting a swath through the darkness.

"Your brother is so going to kick your ass when he finds out you took his flashlight." Taking a quick glance behind into the storm, Ginger stepped into the darkness, and a shiver traveled through her.

From the shadows, Mike’s voice echoed against the cold, damp walls. "Alan can suck my dick. Just because he’s a cop don’t give him the right to piss on me at every…"

His voice faded beneath the roar of thunder as outside at the edge of the brush something moved, shadow shifting and twisting beneath the skeletal branches of the trees. A streak of lightening tore the sky open and lit the clearing in silver fire. In the moment of brightness, a figure could be seen if anyone had looked.

A young woman, long dark curls dancing around a pale face in the wind. Sad, angry eyes the color of sapphire focused on the gapping black rectangle of the door. She wore a pale turquoise and lavender halter dress, jagged hem dark with blood. Her gaze lifted to the top of the lighthouse where the light flickered as it turned in a hypnotic rhythm, splashes of gold against the storm. In the light dark bruises became visible encircling her pale throat.

In the next flash of lightning, the forlorn figure was gone, but the wind seemed to cry out in a hollow feminine voice.

_Don’t trust him…_

***

He was lost in the darkness again.

Shadows slithering along the walls and floors, faces twisted in pain stretching out of the darkness threatening to engulf him. He tried to move away, escape the writhing thing that wanted to hurt him, but he was pinned against the cold stone.

_Help me…_

Dean turned his head and suddenly he wasn’t in the cavern any longer, but was standing on a cliff overlooking the Mississippi, dark waters churning in the storm far below on the jagged rocks. The storm clouds above moved in flashes as lightning tore open their swollen bellies and icy rain soaked through the thin hospital gown he wore.

_Help me…_

The voice was more insistent this time, thin and drawn out as if in pain and riding on the wild wind whipping the trees almost in half. Dean turned to see a young woman appear at the edge of the railing surrounding the lighthouse. One pale naked arm rose pointing toward the towering edifice.

_You understand…_

Dean shivered, arms wrapping around his chest. He was so cold and wet and the expression on the woman’s face reminded him of nightmares best forgotten. "What?"

_He must pay…_

Her lips never moved, but he knew it was the bedraggled figure. He opened his mouth to ask who about she was talking, but she was there in front of him in a heartbeat, breath of glacial air on his damp skin, lips a bare whisper from his. Her voice came to him again, but this time it echoed inside his head, fluttering like the desperate wings of a caged bird against the inside of his skull.

_Remember…remember the pain…_

Her lips closed over his in an ice-cold kiss and he tried to breath as images flashed through his mind, slides on a carousal, playing across a cold white screen

Dean screamed.

***

"Are you okay, sir?"

Dean’s eyes filled with terror. For a second, he wasn’t sure where he was and then he remembered; the hospital, an argument with Sam, and then Sam had stormed out.

"Should I call the nurse?"

He blinked the last images of the nightmare away. "No. I’m okay…just a nightmare." He tried his best to keep his voice steady, offering a weak smile to the nurse who was turning on the light above his bed, "Just a bad dream."

The young man offered a doubtful glance in return and then checked the IV line for tangles. "It must have been a bad one. We heard you all the way down the hall."

Dean groaned and sank back in the pillows as the nurse walked around the bed and dropped the railing. "Can you set up for me?"

As Dean pushed himself up on one trembling arm, the nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around the other and reached out pushing his gown back and pressing the stethoscope against his back. A shiver rolled through Dean as the cold metal touched his bare skin.

"Shit that’s freakin’ cold, dude."

A smile twitched at the corner of the nurse’s lips. "We keep them in the freezer." He began pumping up the cuff. "Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Dean glared at the man from the corner of his eye. "I hope you were kidding cause that’s not right, man."

Quirking one eyebrow, his smile widened, "Of course I was kidding."

"Good to know." Dean took a deep breath. "So when am I getting out of this torture chamber?”

"Lab tests just got back. The night shift doctor is taking a quick peek and we should know in about twenty minutes. I'm sure your brother will be glad to find out the results, seems as if the drugs finally wore off." Noting a few things on the chart the nurse removed the cuff and smiled. "I’ll go down there and find out for you, okay?"

"My brother’s here?"

"Of course, he was sleeping in the waiting room last time we checked. He was pretty torn up according to the morning shift when he brought you in."

Dean laid back, eyes drifting shut. "Hope I get my walking papers. No insult intended, but I hate fucking hospitals, dude."

***

A gentle hand shook Sam awake and he groaned. "Not yet…" he grumbled.

"Sam, wake your ass up. I’m ready to go."

Pushing up in the chair with one hand, he scrubbed at his eyes with the other and yawned. "Dean?" He blinked and then yawned again. "What’s going on?" He glanced around the waiting room for a few seconds and wondered where Bronwen had gone.

"Doc says I’m cool to go and honestly I could use a shower."

Untangling his long legs, Sam stood and stretched, popping his neck, "He sure?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he’s sure."

"Need to sign anything?" Sam bent popping his lower back with a groan.

"Nothing to sign, the doctor is sure, and where the hell are my keys?" Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "I thought you were pre-law, Sammy."

"Dude, its Sam and what the hell?" he frowned at Dean as he held out his hand for the keys.

"Well, I mean with all the questioning of the doctor’s competence. I was starting to think maybe I was mistaken." Dean waggled his fingers in front of his face and Sam swatted at him.

"You’re not driving, Dean." he turned to head out, reaching in his pocket.

Before Dean could protest, the squall of sirens filled the air. They glanced at one another and stepped out of the waiting room into the hall to see the wild flashing of red and blue against the rain spattered ER doors as the staff scattered. Over the PA system, a voice requested the immediate presence of Dr. Randolph in emergency as the doors slid open and three EMT personal ran through the door pushing a gurney. On their heels came another crew pushing a second gurney.

"Wonder what’s going on?" Dean mumbled as he moved down the hall.

"Let’s just go, Dean."

Sam eyed the too still form of a young man about eighteen. He was strapped to the first gurney, backboard, and neck brace. Swallowing back bile Sam turned away at the sight of too much blood as he registered the voice of the EMT who was holding an IV bag above the gurney as they disappeared into the first trauma room.

"When are these fucking kids going to learn? That lighthouse ain’t anywhere they need to be fooling around…"

Leaning against the wall, Sam swallowed harder as the second gurney swung by as they made their way to the exit. A redheaded teenage girl around the same age was strapped down to the gurney and she was thrashing wildly, screaming and sobbing.

"She…oh, god, Mike!" an EMT leaned in one gentle hand stroking the girl’s forehead as she bucked and screamed louder. "She pushed him! Oh, God…please! Please help him! I swear it was a woman! It was her!"

They both turned at the same time, their eyes meeting. As if in unspoken agreement, they made their way to the main desk as the girl’s sobs faded. Dean flashed a quick smile at the nurse behind the desk and she smiled back although it was exhausted and he could see tears in his eyes.

"You okay, miss?" Sam leaned in with a worried glance.

She nodded. "I’ll be okay. It’s just harder when the victims are family." She bit back a sob and rubbed her temple.

"Which kid?" Dean glanced over his shoulder a sudden image from his nightmare flashing behind his eyes.

"My little sister Ginger and the guy is her boyfriend Mike. God I hate this part of the job." She turned away as Dean glanced at Sam.

Waving Sam out, Dean headed for the door, brother close on his heels. As they stepped out into the stormy night and headed across the driveway into the parking lot Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder bringing him to a halt. Dean glanced at Sam through shuttered eyes, closed off and thoughtful.

"What is it? What are you thinking?" Sam demanded as he brushed wet hair from his eyes.

Dean took a deep breath, tasting the earthy flavor of the cold wind. "You heard that EMT in there. Those kids were up at the lighthouse."

"Okay, but what the hell does that have to do with what we’re doing here?" Frowning at the distant look in Dean’s eyes, he thought maybe the doctor had released him too soon. What if the drugs were still in his system or had done something to Dean’s head?

Blinking water from his eyes Dean snorted, glassiness fading from his eyes. "You heard that girl. Her boyfriend was pretty messed up and she said a woman pushed him." He paused, giving Sam an exasperated look. "Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sammy!" he snapped. "Think about it college boy. The lighthouse, a mysterious woman, and we just happen to be here to check into a spirit sighting up at said lighthouse?"

Sam shook his head, beads of water catching in his lashes and sparkling beneath the halcyon light of the parking lot. "That girl was hysterical and besides, Dean…it’s the middle of the night and if you haven’t noticed…" he motioned around them as the wind picked up, leaves swirling through the air, "it’s storming like a son of bitch out here."

"Fine," Dean flung his arms in the air as he turned making a beeline for the spot where he’d caught a glimpse of the Impala. "Not tonight, but first thing in the morning."

Jogging after, keys jingling in his palm, Sam walked around to the driver’s side door. "Okay, so let’s say this woman was the spirit people have been seeing up there. What’s changed?" He opened the door and leaned on the roof staring hard at Dean, looking for any sign he wasn’t himself. "This spirit’s never hurt anyone before. Why start now?"

Fingers tapping an erratic beat in time with the rain on the roof, Dean frowned. "I don’t know, but if I’m right this isn’t going to be the first." He ducked sliding into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

A few seconds later Sam was settled in the driver’s seat, pushing his fingers through dripping wet hair. He pushed the key into the ignition and then paused glancing over at Dean as he chewed his lower lip deep in thought. "What aren’t you telling me, Dean?"

Dean stared out the windshield eyes tracking rivulets of rain spider-webbed across the windshield, "Nothing. Look, Sam I’m just tired and I’d like a nice long hot shower, okay? Quit being such a mother hen."

"Okay, fine." Sam turned the key, engine roaring to life, and shifted into reverse. Stretching his arm over the back of the seat, he slowly backed out of the parking lot. "First thing in the morning we check out the lighthouse."

Moments later, he pulled onto the highway and headed for the motel, one eye on the road and the other on his brother. They were halfway back to the motel before he remembered he hadn’t seen Bronwen before they’d left. Oh, well, he’d told her where they were staying and she had his cell number. Maybe he’d call her first thing in the morning before they headed out.


	5. Chapter 5

During the drive to the motel, there was nothing except silence between them. Sam wasn’t complaining though he had far too damn much shit swimming through his brain. So many things had happened in the past few days and he was at a loss as to how to deal with most of it. As the miles sped past, he’d glance, every few minutes, to where Dean sat slouched in the passenger seat, eyes focused on some distant point beyond the water-beaded glass, breathe leaving a faint mist along the cold surface.

Dean was acting as if the argument hadn’t happened earlier. Hell, he was acting as if none of it happened. The bar, the attempted rape, the trip to the hospital, everything had been eclipsed by the two teenagers who’d been brought into the ER as they were leaving the hospital. The two teenagers who had apparently ran into a spirit who suddenly went vengeful over night for no apparent reason. Sam was beginning to understand Dean was using this trip as an excuse to avoid talking about what had happened in Tennessee, in that alley. He lifted one hand to rub at his burning eyes.

"Dean, I was thinking maybe we should do a little more digging before we go up to the lighthouse in the morning. I mean what do we really know about this spirit?"

Dean shifted in the seat, focus traveling from the window to Sam’s face. "You’re research boy. I mean you can find out all kinds of shit with your handy dandy laptop. So, how about you do the researching and I go check out the lighthouse in the morning?"

Sam steered the car onto the turn-off towards the motel. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" his attention was on the window.

"I’m sorry."

"What for?" his voice trembled and then he took a deep breath. "You don’t have a damn thing to be sorry for, Sam."

"Yeah, I do, man." Sam blinked hard trying to force back the tears welling in his eyes. "I’m sorry I didn’t try hard enough back in Connecticut."

Dean sighed. "None of that was your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself or you’re going to kill yourself with guilt. Shit happens, Sammy."

"Yeah." he whispered as he pulled into the motel parking lot. "Not my fault."

***

Dean had called first on the shower and Sam didn’t argue. He figured his brother had been through enough not to mention he had a few things he wanted to check out. Opening the laptop, he pulled up Google. He sat staring at the screen for a moment wondering why the hell he was letting himself to be torn apart by this thing between them. His brother had made it quite clear he was a big boy and didn’t need help. Although Sam realized it wasn’t true because if it were he wouldn’t have had to threaten some big assed biker in a bar with a bullet between the eyes to keep him from raping Dean.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed and started typing. He had to know more about this missing girl. If Dean had been right and she was the spirit everyone had been seeing, then the first thing he needed to figure out was what the police knew. He pulled up the local newspaper’s website and began a search for everything on Melanie Jenkins’ disappearance. It was apparent she was no longer among the living, but if she’d never been found then Dean was right—they were royally screwed. To lay a spirit to rest they needed human remains.

"What’re you doing?"

Sam glanced up from where he was scrolling through a list of results by date. "Melanie Jenkins." He mumbled as he averted his eyes away from Dean, something squirming in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his brother wearing nothing, but a towel and beads of water trailing down his freckled skin. "If you’re right we need to do something the police couldn’t, Dean."

"And what’s that college boy?" Dean snorted as he dried his hair and began digging through his bag.

Sam turned back to the computer. "We need to find her body."

"Not going to be easy, Sammy. She’s been gone for a year." Dean pulled on some boxers under his towel, dropping it to the floor.

Swallowing hard Sam tried to focus on the screen. What the hell is wrong with you, he wondered. The sight of Dean stretching out on the bed had his gut twisting in a knot.

"That’s why I’m trying to hack into the system for the local police." Sam grunted as he ran his finger across the mouse pad. "We need to know what they do."

Dean shifted on his side flipping channels. "Wouldn’t it just be easier to grab a fake ID and put on your monkey suit? Tell the local-yokels you’re FBI and you just got assigned the Jenkins case?"

"Look, Dean," Sam sighed, "I know that’s your answer for everything, but who the hell is going to believe I’m FBI?”

"Sam we’ve passed ourselves off as everything from a couple of US Marshalls to the fucking forestry service. How would you not be able to pass yourself off as FBI?"

"Need I remind you we were caught eventually on both those examples? I don’t want to talk about this."

"No, Sam. I want to know." Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, dropping the remote to the mattress. Crossing the room, he glared down at Sam’s bowed head as he typed furiously trying his best to be nonchalant, but Sam always sucked at deceit, that was Dean’s forte. He definitely knew bullshit when he smelled it. "Talk to me, Sam." His voice softened.

Head whipping up, Sam glared back, fury flashing in his hazel eyes. "Oh, like you’ve been talking to me, Dean? Man, that’s fucking rich coming from you!" He pushed the chair back standing up so he towered over Dean. "You know if you want someone to talk to you, then you have to give as good, as you _fucking_ _get!"_

"Sammy…" Dean took a step back.

A strangled laugh escaped Sam as he stepped closer, fist clenching and unclenching in a sporadic rhythm. "Don’t." His voice lowered until Dean almost didn’t recognize it. "Don’t you dare fucking pull the _Sammy_ card."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "What the hell’s gotten into you, dude?"

"Maybe, I finally decided to be the real me."

"The real…"

Dean never finished the sentence. Before he could, Sam grabbed him and yanked him so close a piece of paper couldn’t fit between them. That in itself was unusual, but what he did next was insane or so Dean thought for the all of two seconds it took Sam’s lips to crush his in a mind blowing kiss. He groaned eyes fluttering shut as Sam’s tongue slid out teasing his lower lip and then his blunt, even teeth nipped in the same place his tongue had been mere seconds before.

For all his bluster earlier, Dean was rendered not only speechless, but senseless as well. His whole body began to tremble as he felt Sam release one arm from his death grip and his hand slide up Dean’s shoulder and into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He could feel Sam’s fingers tighten and it was short of being painful. A moan slipped from his lips as they parted and Sam’s tongue delved into his mouth. He could feel all the blood rush south as the demanding tongue curled around his and though he knew he should be protesting all he could think of was how Sam tasted of bitter black coffee and something else he couldn’t quite place.

As sudden as it happened it halted and Dean found himself pushed down, body hitting the mattress and bouncing. Eyes wide in confusion he looked up at Sam who stared down, panting as fury still burned in his eyes. "Is that what you want, Dean?" He hissed. "You want to be someone’s little bitch or are you a bigger whore than I thought?"

"Sam?" a million questions rushed through his oxygen deprived brain, but his vocal cords had failed him.

Sam’s eyes shone with something far more painful, and then he turned rubbing his sleeve across his mouth furiously as if his lips were burning. "Go to bed, Dean." He grabbed the keys and his jacket storming from the motel room, door slamming with a resounding echo behind him.

***

Sam had no idea where he was going or why the hell he was even going. His head was throbbed and he was having one bitch of a time getting a decent breath to inflate his lungs. The earlier fury of the storm had died down to a light sprinkle of rain as he drove aimless through the countryside and before he realized it, he was pulling up in front of a small bar.

Shutting down the engine, he sat watching drops of rain hit the windshield and it seemed the storm had roared back to life, taking up the rhythm of his heartbeat. He couldn’t hear anything, but the rushing of his blood in his ears, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. He had no idea what had happened back in the motel room. He also knew no matter what he told himself he could never deny the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body as he’d taken his brother’s mouth in the most intense kiss he’d shared with anyone—including Jess.

He closed his eyes, head leaning back, and one hand drifted down to settle over the heavy hardness still there. God, he thought, what kind of fucked up was he? How could he get hard from kissing his brother? So damn hard, he ached with need. His brother for Christ’s sake, he thought as he ground the heel of his hand against his trapped cock with a moan. There was a part of him, a tiny voice whispered from the dark reaches of his brain, knew had he not left when he did he might have become one of the monsters he hunted.

Behind his eyelids images of Dean, drugged and half-naked sprawled out on that table in the bar. Every detail sharp and clear; look of the muscles in his thighs flexing as the man’s hands had forced them apart, the way the light had caught the light blonde hairs along his skin. And the weight of his cock, hard and leaking against his belly as the woman stroked him.

Sam groaned in need and horror as his palm pressed harder against his erection, rubbing, as tears trickled from beneath his clenched lids. In his mind, the image shifted, changed and now Dean was completely naked, arms stretched above his head, muscles twitching, and back arching. This time it wasn’t the stranger, but Sam himself pushing Dean’s thighs apart.

_Sammy_ _, please…_

Dean was looking at him with as much need as he felt as he pressed into him, cock sliding easily inside his brother’s ass, and it felt right. The tight pressure of rippling muscles squeezing his cock as he slipped in deeper until his balls rested against Dean’s ass cheeks. He leaned forward, pressed his lips to one dusky nipple and Dean whimpered as his teeth closed around it, tugging and scrapping.

_Sammy_ _, please…_

Eyes flying open, Sam let out a muffled sob as he bit into his other fist. "No…" he felt his body began to relax and the pressure between his trembling thighs began to ease although it didn’t quite leave. He sat there panting for a few seconds as he tried to erase the image and the feel of Dean from his mind, but it lingered, last smoldering ember of a dying fire.

It dawned on him he hadn’t even masturbated in the past few months, not after what he’d gone through. Just the idea of sex, masturbation or otherwise had made him want to vomit. He swallowed back bile as it surged in his throat. He hadn’t been with anyone since that last night with Jess, the night Dean had come for him. A half-choked sob escaped him as he tried to breathe, tried to forget. Maybe Dean hadn’t been so wrong when he’d wanted Sam to relax and have some fun. He was strung out on everything.

There was Dean, his big brother, storming back into his life, both guns blazing.

Then there was Jess’ death and the fire. A life consumed he’d spent almost four years building, everything he’d wanted reduced to ash and scent of smoke haunted his dreams.

There was the horror of almost losing Dean in Connecticut and the fucking Rawhead in Arkansas so soon after. And watching his brother die slow from a damaged heart, familiar eyes haunted and hollow with more pain than any human should suffer.

Chicago had followed with Meg. So close to being reunited with their father and then having to watch the taillights of his truck vanish into the rainy darkness.

His head dropped to the steering wheel, metal cool against his feverish brow. He’d been so busy trying to forget and hold them together he hadn’t even noticed when Dean had slipped into the very darkness he’d been trying to protect him from. His shoulders shook as he wept in pain, exhaustion, and anger; so much fucking anger it was choking him.

He yanked the keys from the ignition, stuffed them in his pocket, and scrubbed tears from his face allowing the anger to overtake everything else. Before Jess he’d never had a problem finding partners if only for one night and tonight was no exception. Dean wanted him to have fun, fine. He was going to do exactly that and his brother could fuck off for all he cared.

With a low growl, he pushed the door open and stepped into the rain. He stripped down to his tee shirt and tossed everything into the back seat, then slammed the door shut. Sam was fully aware of his looks even if Dean didn’t notice. As he crossed the parking lot to the flashing neon of the bar, cold October rain soaked his tee shirt.

If Dean didn’t want him he’d find someone who did, he thought.

It never crossed his mind why he was doing this or even why he was so angry with Dean for his own actions.

***

Dean laid there on the bed listening as his car pulled away and couldn’t quite process what had happened. It made no sense and his reaction didn’t make any sense either. He rolled all those confused thoughts and reactions over in his brain, savoring them like cold ice cream on his tongue. He was definitely hot, but—what the hell?

The feel of Sam’s long, hard body molded to his haunted him; ghost of Sam’s cologne, the feel of his fingers tangled in his hair, and his lips against his.

Sam had kissed him.

Sam.

His little brother had kissed him and most definitely not in a brotherly way.

There had been moments in his life when, as he watched Sam grow up, he’d had thoughts he never admitted too. He’d always thought he was fucked-up especially when he’d had his first less than honorable thought about Sam. He closed his eyes and pulled up the image of Sam at sixteen.

***

His brother had at last become comfortable in his skin after a couple of years of coltish, clumsiness, and his stick thin frame had begun to fill out. Muscles had become more defined and the clumsiness had been traded in for a deadly grace that reminded him of those sleek jungle cats he’d seen on National Geographic nature specials. Where he’d been able to outdo Sam in everything before, now he needed to work twice as hard to do so.

They’d been hunting a werewolf outside Denver, high in the mountains, on the hottest day of the year. A full moon high in the night sky washed out everything leaving only shades of grey and black, the silence almost deafening as they waited on either side of the clearing for John to return.

A trap had been laid, John would lure the beast down through the woods and straight for where they waited, heavy net rigged in the treetops meant to slow the damn thing down long enough so that they could fill it with silver. This one was stronger, faster, and older than any John had come across and the bastard had already murdered at least six people. The fucker had turned the outlying areas of Denver into its personal all-you-can-eat buffet and the Winchesters were about to put a closed sign on the door.

Dean remembered focusing on Sam’s ‘too damn long hair’ as their father called it. Sam had refused to cut his hair simply to piss their dad off and he knew that. What he couldn’t figure out was how in the hell Sam could see shit with those shaggy bangs hanging in his face. As his thoughts drifted between having enough ammo clips and his brother’s hair, the sound of an infuriated animal howl ripped through the night air. Immediately they were on their feet and alert, their darting gazes to one another signals they spoke without saying a word.

He’d taken up his position at the end of the path as per John’s instructions, no weapon in sight, though in reality he had a pair of pistols stuck in the waist of his jeans. He also had his hand wrapped around the rope that would pull down the netting. Sam was hunched in the brush waiting to take up the rear as soon as the werewolf was netted.

What went wrong was debated for years to come.

All Dean knew was the net hadn’t released, John had ended up tossed into the brush, knocked unconscious, and he was flat on his back the slavering beast pinning him to the ground as its teeth had sank into his shoulder with a ferocity that had Dean screaming in agony. He’d felt the razor sharp teeth sink in deep beneath skin, muscle and scrape against bone and he was sure he was going to die.

The next thing he knew the beast above him ripped its head back roaring in fury and he was left panting and in agony on the ground, pool of blood forming beneath his mangled shoulder. He lifted his head, tried to calm his breathing and that’s when he’d seen it or rather him.

Sam, his sixteen-year-old brother facing down a beast that stood a full fucking head taller; blood spatters glistened wet and black along his face, jaw set in a hard line, and eyes narrowed as they circled one another. In Sam’s hand was his silver dagger, ten-inch blade shimmering in the ghost white moonlight, a gift from their adopted uncle, Bobby.

He’d never been more terrified in his life, but Sam seemed to take it all in stride.

There had been confusion, chaos, and—quite literally—fur flying as the thing launched itself at Sam with a roar. Dean tried to force himself to his feet, but blood lose was making him woozy and he was sure he was going to have to watch his baby brother ripped to shreds. Sam had surprised the hell out of them both.

By the time, it was done and over with Sam’s hands and forearms were slick with blood and the stench of death filled the humid mountain air. Sam was left standing arms limp at his sides and dagger clenched in his fist. On the ground, the beast’s lifeless corpse lay quickly cooling. Its throat was slit and intestines slithered out of its gutted torso along the ground in wet, gory trails of shit and blood.

That was the moment Dean had seen Sam for the first time not as his baby brother, but as a powerful young man and if he hadn’t been busy throwing up seconds later he might have been too damned turned on to think straight. Sam was no longer a child in his eyes, but rather a beautiful and deadly man. A man willing to face down the devil himself for those he loved though he despised the hunt and all it represented.

Later after wounds were cleansed and bandaged and the body taken care of John had treated them all to dinner at a nice restaurant in celebration. Dean remembered his father patting Sam on the back and smiling. His words full of pride.

"Damn fine work, Sammy."

Fortunately, John hadn’t seen the look in Sam’s eyes, but he had. It was a look of pure disgust, and had he known what was hidden in the bottom of Sam’s duffel, he would have realized it was a precursor of what was coming. A shit storm of massive proportions that tore their family apart upon Sam’s announcement he intended to leave for Stanford.

***

As the memory faded to his utter disgust the desire for his brother didn’t. All he could think of was how Sam’s lips had felt pressed to his, the feel of his body, and the taste of his kiss. Dean clenched his eyes shut and tried to think of everything disgusting and gross he’d ever seen in all his years hunting. Slowly the ache between his thighs eased and everything he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours began to weigh his eyelids down.

Stretching out on his stomach, Dean reached under his pillow seeking out the comforting weight of the knife beneath. Tomorrow these vague, sick notions would fade in the morning light and they’d be taking care of what was more important. They had to find Melanie Jenkins’ body and put her to rest before she hurt anyone else.

***

It was midnight bar crowded and noisy as all hell. The attentions of every woman in the bar and a few men were focused on the young man on the dance floor. He moved like water, slow, sensuous, and there was a sharp edge of danger in his sparkling eyes. For now, he was dancing with a young woman who was all curves and laughter. He smiled at her, deep dimples cleaving his face as he pulled her between muscled thighs and pressed their hips together.

A rosy blush colored her cheeks as he leaned in and whispered something in her ear as they ground together in time with the song the band was playing. His hands, big and graceful like the rest of him, traveled up her arms and tangled in her loose brunette curls. She licked her lips and his smile widened, but she wasn’t what he really wanted.

As the last notes of the song faded, the crowd applauded. The young man lifted his eyes from his previous dance partner and met the gaze of another man across the room. He leaned in, whispered a quick thank you, brushed a gentle kiss along her cheek and then with quick, long strides wove his way through the crowd to the bar.

Approaching the man he smiled, dimples flashing for a split-second, and hazel eyes sparkling beneath shaggy bangs. "Hi, I’m Sam. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Eric…" the man smiled back sharp blue eyes contemplating the outcome of their encounter.

"And yeah you can buy me a drink—Southern Comfort straight up." Full lips tugged up in a seductive smirk as he pushed dark blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Southern Comfort it is then." Sam laughed as he waved at the bartender.

***

Dean tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. Maybe he was dead, he thought as he felt himself being dragged along the ground, rocks digging into his back, and above there was nothing except darkness. The soft sound of someone mumbling beneath their breath drifted to his ears and the distant sound of water lapping against rock blended with it. Dean tried to move, but he was paralyzed, he couldn’t move as much as a finger.

_Help me…_

He sat up with a desperate breath and scanned the room with frightened eyes. "Who are you?" his voice echoed off the concrete walls that surrounded him. In the shadows, he could see stairs winding up into the darkness.

_Help me…_

Far above he caught a glimpse of movement; smear of color among the shadows. He realized it was someone walking along a railing high in the rafters. The whisper of silk sliding against bare skin drifted out of the darkness. He felt something wet and warm hit the top of his hand.

_You understand…_

He focused on his hand and saw droplets of crimson against his pale skin. Slow and easy, they rolled down his hand and spread across the cold concrete beneath him. He yanked his hand back only to find himself standing on the cliff overlooking the river. Lightning tore through the swollen underbellies of the clouds. Looking down he saw his hands clear in the flash of light and they were soaked with blood.

***

Sam pushed Eric through the door of the unisex bathroom, laughter drunken and loud enough to startle two young women. He pulled out of their kiss long enough to smile, "Didn’t mean to startle you ladies."

Both women giggled, cheeks flushed, as they scurried from the bathroom whispering to each other. As the door slammed shut, Sam glanced down at Eric, wicked smile, and eyes dilated with lust.

"So, where were we?" He frog marched Eric backward into a cubicle.

When his back hit the door, it swung in. "I think you were going to…" Eric leaned forward sucking on Sam’s lower lip for a second, "show me how college boys suck cock."

Sam pressed against Eric, laughing, and pushed one leg between his thighs. "Is that what I was going to do? I don’t know, dude."

"Quit teasing you shit." Eric rubbed against his thigh and moaned. "Come on, Sam. Give it the old college try." Their mouths clashed as Sam fumbled for his belt and went to work.

Drawing back, Eric sucked in a desperate breath. "Who hurt you?" He demanded working on Sam’s ear lobe with teeth and tongue. "Who could possibly turn you away?"

Pushing at his jeans, Sam worked them down his hips. "No one important." he denied.

***

_Help me…please…_

Dean spun around, searching for the source of the voice haunting him. "Where are you?"

_Don’t know…so cold…_

His eyes focused back on his hands, but they were clean, the blood gone. "What do you want from me?" Dean yelled into the raging storm. "I can’t help you if I can’t find you!"

_Vengeance_

Chest tight he lifted his face to the sky, icy rain splashed across his skin and memories began to rise. Memories he’d shut away in a box and refused to examine. His heart began pounding against his ribs as fury rose along with the memories.

"Vengeance." he whispered all his pain releasing in a deluge after six long months. "I want vengeance like you!" He screamed into the night sky.

_Come to the lighthouse...come help me..._

Head lowering hot tears mingled with the cold rain on his face as he witnessed her at last, nothing more than a faded figure at the edge of the trees. Dark hair whipped around a pale face as their eyes met. Her lips didn’t move, nevertheless he heard her, clear and crisp on the wind swirling around him.

_Vengeance_

***

Sam pinned Eric’s hips to the cubicle wall as he leaned in, tongue darting out to taste his hard flesh, the flavor of his skin salty. His eyes drifted shut as he nuzzled coarse dark curls and inhaled his scent, murmuring as his lips traced the curve of the erection against his cheek.

"Jesus…Sam…" Eric moaned.

"Sammy." Sam whispered. "Call me Sammy."

Eric hissed as Sam’s tongue swirled around the crown of his cock. "Oh, God, shit whatever…not much of a kink though."

With a smile on his lips, Sam glanced up through his lashes, and took the tip of Eric’s erection between curved lips and sucked hard, bitter, saltiness of pre-cum strong on his tongue. Eric moaned louder, head banging against the wall of the cubicle as one of Sam’s hands encircled the base of his prick and the other cradled his balls. Rolling the weight in his palm, Sam swallowed his thick length inch by inch until his nose was buried in the curls at the base. He swallowed hard, opening his throat, and smiled as Eric began to writhe.

"Sweet Jesus…oh, God yes…Sammy…"

He began to bob his head at the desperate plea, hard swallow each time he reached the base and a swirl of his tongue when he reached the tip. His eyes never left the man’s face above him. The face he saw though was never Eric’s face. The blue eyes staring down at him dilated with lust morphed into a moss green, fringed with dark lashes.

"Yes…Sammy, please…"

The voice changed as well into one more familiar to his senses. He knew it was wrong, God it was so wrong, but he needed it. He needed that illusion as much as he needed to breathe.

Squeezing the weight in his palm, he closed his eyes and wondered why he had this unnatural need. Rather than think of it any longer he released the warm weight in his palm and reached down tugging one handed at his own fly until he released his own aching prick. With a quick glance at Eric, he began stroking himself in time with the movement of his mouth. He closed his eyes, again he moaned in the back of his throat, fingers tightening around himself and Eric.

God, he’d needed this, he thought, Eric’s fingers tangled in his thick hair, nails scratching his scalp. He needed to forget everything—Jess, Mom, Dad, and especially Dean. How bad he needed to forget Dean and this need that seemed to have sprung up overnight like some twisted alien vegetation, gnawing at his mind.

"Oh, my God…Sammy…"

He felt his mouth flooded with thick, salty fluid, and he began stroking himself harder and rougher. As he swallowed down Eric’s release, he moaned as his own orgasm vibrated through him and over his clenched fist.

It seemed an eternity passed before he released Eric’s softening cock from between bruised lips, tongue licking all trace of cum away. Releasing his grip on Eric, his hand pressed against the cool wall, fingers trembling as Eric sank to his knees. Through the post-orgasmic haze in his brain, he felt Eric take his other hand and suck his fingers clean. His eyes drifted open, face flushed and his chest heaving with each breath he took. There was something deeply erotic about Eric cleaning his hand and he felt his cock twitch.

"Has anyone told you how incredibly beautiful you are after you come?" Eric whispered as he released Sam’s hand. He carded his fingers through Sam’s sweat dampened hair. "Like a fucking angel." Then he leaned in taking his lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

The taste of his own body’s release filled his mouth, lips parting with a whimper. Eric’s tongue slid past and tangled with his own in a gentle dance. As the adrenaline surge wore off and blood flooded his brain Sam withdrew looking into those blue eyes and found himself wanting still. Wanting something, he had no right to want. Bronwen had been right—he loved Dean. He loved him far more than a brother should and he couldn’t wrap his mind around any of it.

"I’m sorry…" Sam pushed away from Eric, stumbling to his feet and tucked himself into his jeans.

Eric rose to his feet doing the same thing, "What for? Sam, you have nothing to be sorry for. We’re both grown men and we both needed this. Don’t turn this into a guilt trip, it’ll eat you up inside."

Those words were far too close to Dean’s earlier ones when they’d been driving back to the motel and he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes glistening. "I’m…I’ve…" he stuttered as he backed out of the stall and headed for the door, "I have to go. My brother is waiting for me."

Without waiting for a reply, Sam pushed through the door and headed for the parking lot. By the time he made it back to the car, hot tears were streaming down his face, and he slumped back on his haunches, back to the driver’s side door. Closing his eyes, he turned his face up into the rain that was pounding down again, hoping beyond hope Dean could forgive him.

***

Back at the motel Dean laid still as death, the only sign of life his bare chest rising. Clutched in one hand was the knife from beneath his pillow, other arm flung across the mattress, fingers dangling over the edge.

Beyond the window, lightning lit up the night sky and flooding the room in light. In the corner of the room a misty shape stood, eyes focused on Dean’s sleeping form. As it faded, a faint whisper echoed in the silence with its departure.

_I’m sorry…_

In the next flash of lightning blood could be seen, twining along the pale skin of the inside of his arm, dark liquid dripping from fingertips to pool on the carpet below.


	6. Chapter 6

How long Sam sat hunched against the car he couldn’t say, when a shiver pulled him from the void he’d drifted into after his lapse in judgment. The rain still poured around him and there wasn’t an inch of his skin not frozen. Dean would kick his ass when he got back to the motel. Sitting out in this was tantamount to begging for pneumonia.

Pulling to his feet, Sam dug in his pocket for the car keys and unlocked the door. Once inside, he stripped off his soaked shirt and exchanged it for the hoodie he’d tossed in the back seat earlier. Tugging it over his head, he started the car with a twist of his wrist, and listened as the Impala’s engine came to life with a roar. Heater on he waited as warm air began to blow through the vents and scrubbed his hands together, fingers tingling back to life. For a few minutes, he sat shivering, heat slowly penetrating his muscles and crawling beneath his skin. It didn’t seem to help though because for some reason Sam remained cold.

Maybe it’s all the guilt, a voice whispered in his ear. Guilt over how you treat your brother. The shape shifter was right—he needed to appreciate him more. Hadn’t he always done right by him? He’d carried him out of the fire that had killed their mother. He’d always protected him, cared for him, and how did he repay him? The first time he needed him, he’d failed him.

"Shut up." Sam hissed through clenched teeth pushing soaked hair from his face. "I didn’t fail him. I saved him."

But what did you really save, Sam?

A broken puppet evil had gotten tired of fucking with, a shattered excuse for a human being.

"No." Sam mumbled. "It’s going to be okay."

He pushed the voice in his head away, shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot with a squeal tires on rain-slicked pavement. He knew he had to get to Dean, had to explain, and he had to make it right.

From the trees, a figure watched the car disappear into the storm, and a sigh drifted on the wind. Sam would finally know the truth one way or another. Sometimes it was the hardest lessons that clung like silken strands of spider silk, ghostly reminders of the mistakes we’d made, ones that cost us more than we were willing to pay.

***

He was halfway back to the motel when it hit him.

Sam gritted his teeth and tried to keep control of the car as he maneuvered it to the roadside through the pain fusing his skull with his brain. He heard the honk of a horn as he swerved over the line and back again, bringing her to a skidding halt on the shoulder.

He ground the heels of his hands into eye sockets on fire and let out a half choked scream, head falling back against the seat. Fire ripped down his spine as his hands moved away from eyes blinded to the outside world and his fingers clawed at his temples in an attempt to rip the pain from his skull. Breathing ragged and desperate, splintered images skidded across the surface of his brain.

_A woman, standing in shadows, strands of dark hair whipping around a pale face in the storm fueled wind. Eyes flashing with something between pain and anger, shining, perfect polished sapphires._

_Cold concrete and rusting metal_

_Two voices lifted, intertwining, and becoming one the pain without end anger and bittersweet vengeance leaving the taste of bile in his throat._

_A dark room, no sound, no light to speak of and the distant sound of dripping water in his ears_

_Help me…_

_Sammy_ _, please…_

_I’m going to die and you can’t stop it._

Sam screamed head slamming back against the seat repeatedly teeth clenched so hard he thought the enamel would shatter. His fingers clawed through his hair, desperate, tangling and yanking as shattered images continued to assault his senses.

_A knife, glinting silver, and stained black with fresh blood, clutched in a man’s hand._

"No…" Sam gasped.   
 _  
 _Someone lying sprawled across a tumble of tangled covers, a man, not just a man—Dean. One arm flung over the edge of the mattress and thick trails of blood, sliding down his arm, to drip from cold pale fingers.__

Sam whimpered in the back of his throat as he clutched at his head. "Dean…no…"  
 _  
 _I’m sorry…__

 _Sorry_ __  
  
Sitting up with a cry of anguish Sam shifted the car into drive and hit the gas. "I’m coming Dean…fuck…please…I’m coming."

***

_He was dreaming and he knew that, but he couldn’t pull himself from the dream. Splinters of images and he wondered for a moment if he was being possessed. He wasn’t experiencing the images, he was watching though. He was an observer standing in the shadows and seeing, yet not understanding what he was seeing. The images were erratic, scattered, and he wondered if this was how Sam felt when he experienced a vision._

_A smear of movement and color in the darkness had his body tensing, waiting for the enemy to show themselves. Shifting he wrapped his hand around the knife terror rising in his throat and waited._

_Another shift in the shadows and he held his breath, handle of the knife biting into his sweaty palm. The darkness was coming to take him again. His pulse exploded in an erratic rhythm as he swallowed trying to alleviate the dryness of his mouth._

***

Screeching breaks announced Sam’s arrival in the motel parking lot although he doubted anyone heard it. Gut twisted in a knot, he yanked the keys from the ignition and exited heading for the trunk. He needed a weapon anything he could use for protection because he _knew_ there was something in there with Dean, something not of this world and he was terrified.

His chest ached, hands trembling, and the residual pain of the vision he’d had caused his vision to swim in and out of focus. Grabbing one of the shotguns from their cache, he shoved a handful of cartridges in his pocket. If nothing else the rock salt would hold off whatever was in there until he got to Dean.

God, Dean, why would you do this? Why would you hurt yourself? Maybe it was the damn spirit. Maybe she’d done something, got in Dean’s head as Ellicott had got into his all those months ago.

Slamming the trunk, Sam wiped the rain from his eyes and started toward the room, heart pounding as if it would burst through his chest. He’d lost Dean once he’d be damned if he lost him again. This time whatever darkness waited was going to have to go through him first to get to his brother.

***

From the moment he stepped through the door, Sam knew there was something there. He couldn’t explain why he knew, but his suspicions were confirmed when he released a breath and it came out in a cold mist. His skin crept along his bones, goose flesh rising, and the fine hairs at the base of his skull stood at attention as he swung the gun into position.

Silent he moved closer to where he could see Dean sprawled across the furthest bed. Shadows played across him, never quite letting Sam get a good look. He sucked in a deep breath and tightened his grip on the gun.

"Dean?" He whispered.

Nothing except silence greeted him.  
 _  
 _Please…__

Sam’s eyes grew wide at the voice. Lifting his head, he focused on the far corner of the room where the darkness seemed deeper.

Licking his lips, he called out again. "Who are you? What do you want?"  
 _  
 _Him__

Silk rustled in the shadows as she stepped forward, wraith of pale light and twisted darkness, eyes shining with an ethereal glow as she stared straight through Sam. A chill travelled up his spine and the temperature dropped further until he felt as if he was standing in a meat locker.

"You can’t have him." Sam choked out. "I won’t allow it."

She turned her head, ghostly eyes focused on where Dean lay sprawled on the bed.  
 _  
 _No choice__

"Bullshit…" Sam hissed.  
  
 _I’m sorry…_

Sam cocked the shotgun as she turned back to look him in the eye. A smile curled her lips she melted back into the shadows vanishing as his finger tightened on the trigger, and then the cold was gone. He dropped the shotgun and rushed to the bed attention focused on his brother.

"Dean?" He called out, but there was no answer.

Leaning over the bed, he reached out fingers close to Dean when his eyes flew open. Before he could say another word, Dean’s arm swung up the blade of his knife catching the dim light and coming within a mere breath of slitting Sam’s throat open.

Sam grabbed for his wrist and let out a scream. "Dean! Dean, it’s me!"

Dean didn’t react as he’d hoped, his limbs lashing out in terrified fury. It was in then Sam realized he was still asleep, trapped between waking and dreaming. Being there could do one hell of a number on a person in particular if the person in question’s defenses were fucked nine ways from Sunday.

"Dean! Wake up, Dean!" He straddled him fighting to get him under control. "God damn it, Dean!"

Beneath his breathe, Dean mumbled incoherent, eyes unfocused, and darting in his head. The knife swept past Sam’s nose and he jerked back with a curse. He wasn’t good at this shit. He was the one who had nightmares and Dean was the one who soothed night terrors away. How had their roles ended up reversed?

He slapped away the knife wielding hand, head rocking back as Dean’s other fist connected with his jaw. "Son of a bitch!" he cried out. "Wake the fuck up!" He knocked the knife away and Dean yowled like a cat in heat and went limp beneath him with no warning.

Sam sat there for a moment, trying to catch his breath before he hyperventilated. In the sudden quiet of the room, he heard Dean groan before he brushed wet, tangled hair from his eyes. He could see the fine lines around his brother’s eyes and mouth deepen and he recognized the look.

"Dean?"

"Get the fuck off me."

"Are you okay?"

He was struggling to get off Dean when the vision came back to him and he realized Dean was in the same position he’d witnessed. Sprawled across tangled covers and knife still—

"Oh, fuck." His voice cracked when he saw blood on the knife’s blade.

Scrambling off the bed, he reached for the lamp tilted against the wall from the earlier scuffle. His hands refused to cooperate and he was suddenly twelve, clumsy and uncoordinated. He managed to tilt the lamp upright eventually and locate the switch, room flooding with bright light as his eyes adjusted. Dean hissed in pain as he turned to face him. His brother’s right arm was extended over the edge of the mattress and trails of blood stood out, crimson on skin the color of bone in the lamp’s light. Blood dripped off his fingers and hit the floor as his face twisted in pain.

"Shit." He was up and running to the bathroom to grab a towel from the rack, and scurry back to Dean’s side.

He grasped Dean’s arm and wound the towel tight around it while mumbling desperate apologies. Dean pushed up and yanked away, hissing as he clutched the injured arm to his chest. He eyed Sam’s dripping hair, wild eyes, and pale skin with trepidation and no small amount of anger.

"What the fuck?" Dean growled, causing Sam to jump out of his skin. "What the hell were you thinking, Sam? Jumping on me and pulling me out of a dead sleep? I could’ve hurt you." He peeled the towel back inspecting the cut on the inside of his arm.

Sam stood and turned to the other bed dropping without a word. What the fuck was a good question, he thought. He braced elbows on knees and rested his face in shaking palms. He didn’t have a clue what to say. The vision had seemed so clear when it had happened.

"Sammy? Talk to me okay?"

He glanced up his eyes guilt wide. "Your arm…"

Dean snorted. "It’s okay, dude. Don’t think I’ll need stitches, bleeding is already slowing, but it stings like a son of a bitch. That’ll teach you to…" he paused and studied Sam’s expression. "Look, man I said I’m okay."

Shaking his head, Sam focused on the carpet where splatters of Dean’s blood bloomed like rose buds.

With a quick huff of breath, Dean slid off the bed and knelt down, fingers grazing Sam’s cheek. "Seriously, dude. I’m fine…it’s you I’m worried about. What happened? What the hell was that?"

Sam sniffed. "I…I had a vision."

Dean’s brows shot up, "A vision? One that told you we had to reenact _Friday Night Smack Down_ weapons included?"

"No!" Sam scrambled over the bed as far away from Dean as he could. Back to Dean, he swallowed the nauseating taste in his mouth as his stomach threatened to empty itself on the carpeting. There was a moment of silence and Sam prayed Dean wouldn’t ask. But he knew he wasn’t going to get off that easy. He could hear Dean shift on the bed, mattress creaking.

"Come on Sam…what did you see?"

He licked his lips and tried to work some moisture up in his bone-dry mouth. "I saw…" he started and then made a choking sound, "I saw you…and her. And you were…"

"What?" Dean’s voice softened.

"You were bleeding." Sam managed.

"Damn accurate vision there, college boy."

Dean’s words were followed by a chuckle and something inside Sam snapped. He spun around face streaked with tears and eyes wild with fear. "This isn’t a joke Dean!" He screamed. "I saw you slit your own wrist!"

"What the fuck? Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?"

In a heartbeat, Sam was on his feet. "I wasn’t dreaming…I was driving back here from the bar and I had a fucking vision." His chest heaved, voice frail almost on the verge of shattering. "That woman, Melanie, she was here…in the room with you. I thought…I don’t know it was…shit…" he slumped down in the chair and closed his eyes.

Still clutching his injured arm, Dean stood and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look Sam…I’m okay. Just help me get this cleaned up and we’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?" He headed toward the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit.

"She was here." Sam whispered.

Freezing in his tracks, Dean cleared his throat. "Here? You saw her?" He turned and met Sam’s gaze. "She was here in this room?"

"What the hell is going on, Dean?" Sam searched Dean’s face for some kind of answer. "What the hell was she doing here? How the hell did she get past…" he motioned at the lines of salt still undisturbed along the thresholds of the door and window.

Dean shook his head. "I don’t know, but we’re going to find out first thing in the morning." He turned and vanished into the bathroom, leaving Sam to his confused thoughts.

***

"Wake up, sunshine!"

Sam burrowed deeper under the covers. "Five more minutes, dude."

A heavy weight hit the bed, the smell of strong black coffee tantalizing his nose. "You already used that excuse an hour ago." Dean reached out tousling Sam’s hair. "Now up and at ‘em…daylight’s burning."

Sam rolled over and blinked wearily at Dean as he was offered a gigantic Styrofoam cup. He accepted the offering and cleared his throat. "What time is it?"

Dean grinned. "Almost noon, dude. I don’t know what you were doing last night besides auditioning for the WWF, but you slept like a rock." He stood and pointed to a bag on the nightstand. "Brought you some muffins…couldn’t remember what flavor you liked so I bought one of each."

Popping the cup’s lid Sam sipped the coffee with a groan of pleasure. "God, that’s…"

"Orgasmic?" Dean offered as he shed his jacket and settled in front of the laptop. "So you were being research boy big time yesterday." He carefully avoided any mention of the kiss or confrontation that had sent Sam storming out the night before.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled as he snatched the bag. "Jesus Dean…double chocolate-chocolate chip? Are you trying to kill me with kindness?" He pulled the giant muffin out of the bag peeling the wrapper.

"I’ll get back to you on that one." Dean snickered as he skimmed through the information Sam had compiled from the local paper’s website. "Looks like you got us more info than you thought."

"Really?" Sam replied mouth stuffed with warm, chocolate muffin.

"Looks like…being as this is one small town…one writer was assigned this story." He paused nibbling his lower lip. "Guy’s name is Harris Culver. All the articles spanning from the original disappearance until the finale article this month was written by him. I skimmed over them and it looks like Mr. Culver might have known Melanie."

Sam washed down the muffin with a sip of coffee. "There was an article this month?" He sat the coffee aside and strolled over to where Dean sat.

Dean turned the laptop toward Sam as he settled in the other chair. "Yep, apparently they held a candle light vigil in memory of Melanie up at the lighthouse on the one year anniversary of her disappearance. Check it out."

Leaning across the table, Sam began reading.

 

**CANDLE LIGHT VIGIL AT OLD LIGHTHOUSE: MEMORIUM FOR MISSING GIRL** **  
** _  
**Family and friends still holding onto hope.** ****  
  
_By Harris Culver_ _

_Hannibal_ _Courier_

_One year ago on October 15, 2005 Melanie ‘Mel’ Jenkins, 23, a Hannibal native, and student at Washington University in St. Louis went missing. Despite the best efforts of family, friends, and law-enforcement agencies, including the FBI, she has yet to be located and the case has been shelved until further evidence can be found._

_Her car was found parked at the base of Cardiff Hill in the public lot at the foot of the stairs leading to the Mark Twain Memorial Lighthouse the day after a party thrown in her brother’s honor. Very little evidence was gleaned at the time from the vehicle other than a few drops of blood, which proved to belong to the missing woman. Despite a thorough search of the surrounding land, nothing further was discovered. It was as if she vanished without a trace, says an unnamed source with the Missouri Highway Patrol._

_One year later the Jenkins family still refuses to give up on their oldest daughter and through their local parish have organized a candle light vigil for tonight at 8:00 pm at the base of Cardiff Hill. This vigil is an attempt by the both the family and the community to draw attention to this unsolved case. Local authorities have yet to write the search off, says Deputy Sheriff Leonard Barnhart of the Marion County Sheriff’s Department. We don’t give up on our own no matter what because family is important to the residents of this town and county._

_Hannibal_ _Presbyterian Pastor Daniel McAbee encourages everyone to attend tonight as a show of support not only for the Jenkins family, but for the community as well. This is a way to draw us together. The church will be accepting donations to help support the continuing campaign ‘Bring Melanie Home’, says Pastor McAbee._

_Continued on Page A4_ __  
  
  


Frowning Sam leaned back. "Maybe this is one we can’t take care of, Dean."

"Much of a downer, Sam? Look, this family has suffered enough and maybe if we find her body it’ll be over."

"You know that isn’t true. Why would I have one of my visions, Dean?" Sam’s attention focused on the thick gauze covering Dean’s forearm. "Why else would she have shown herself to me last night? You’re not telling me something, Dean. What’s going on?"

Standing up Dean began to pace, arms folded over his chest, and teeth worrying his lower lip. "Like I told you last night Sam—I don’t know."

"Then why can’t you look me in the eye? Jesus, Dean after all this time why can’t you trust me?" Running his fingers through his hair, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, the only sound the shuffle of Dean’s boots as he paced from carpet to tile and back again. Sam’s chin dropped as he studied his brother through narrowed eyes. "Dean, I know something’s bothering you I want to help."

Dean stopped and inhaled as if he weren’t sure what words he needed, brow furrowed in thought. "It’s not about trust, Sammy."

"Then what is it?"

"It’s about vengeance." He met Sam’s eyes and offered a weak smile. "Me and this girl…we have something in common."

Sam’s eyes widened. "This is about Connecticut—isn’t it?"

Dean nodded eyes glittering in the sunlight streaming through the motel window. He couldn’t explain it any better to Sam at least not without facing some things he’d rather not face yet. "Don’t ask any more questions, Sam—please?"

Nodding, Sam stood and stretched. "I’ll take a shower and maybe we can go track Harris Culver down. Maybe he can make it easier on both of us."

"So what are we going to tell him? I mean we have to have a story, right?" Dean picked up his coffee, playing with the rim of the cup.

"Well, if you can handle a ‘monkey suit’ for a few hours I think we might have a perfect cover."

"Dude.”

"Look, he’ll open up to FBI and FBI always has partners."

"Aw…man."

"Partners Dean—I’m just saying." Chuckling he headed to the bathroom as he heard Dean hit the bed with a groan.

***

Sam took the lead and to be honest Dean was glad. He was too damn busy trying to look comfortable despite the damn noose around his neck his brother had insisted he wear.

"I’m Agent Samuel Morrison,” he flashed his badge at the middle age woman behind the desk, "and this is my partner Dean Hendrix. We’d like to speak to a reporter by the name of…" he flipped through the small note pad he carried, "Harris Culver."

She glanced at Sam and then Dean, who flashed his sexiest grin, and sighed. "Let me see if Mr. Culver is in his office." She picked up the phone and dialed an extension, popping the gum she was chewing in the process. "Yeah, its Beatrice is Mr. Culver in his office? Yeah, two FBI agents who want to speak with him. Okay, sure no problem. I’ll send them right up." Hanging up the phone, she flashed Sam a smile, one more annoyed and less friendly than it should have been. "Go upstairs and turn left. Mr. Culver’s office is the last one at the end of the hall. You can’t miss it."

"Thank you, ma’am," Sam nodded offering a smile and then caught Dean’s wandering attention.

***

The building was old probably close to two hundred years old, but whoever had remodeled it had done an excellent job. They’d keep the original structure intact updating the lighting and electrical systems and Sam was impressed. Tall brick walls were decorated with beautifully framed photos detailing the town’s history and tasteful live plants graced the sills of the narrow windows looking out across the river. Today the sky was a cerulean blue and the autumn trees like flickering flames against it.

"Hey, Sam, take a look at this."

Sam turned around to see Dean studying a picture on the wall with a curious expression. He headed back the way he’d come and looked up at the photo. It was a black and white art shot of the lighthouse they’d seen coming over the bridge into Hannibal, sky clear except for a few sparse clouds, and the vegetation thick and dark. Sam kept staring at the picture, mesmerized by the photographer’s ability to capture the unique play of light and shadow.

"Do you see what I do?" Dean questioned.

"What?"

Lifting a hand to the right hand corner, he tapped one finger against the glass and glanced over at Sam. With a quizzical expression, Sam leaned in closer. There, hidden among the shadows that had was a blurred image. At first glance it could have appeared to be simply light and shadow. Sam knew better though. He’d seen enough spirit photography to realize it was much more.

"Shit."

Dean turned back to the photograph, "Exactly. It’s her."

"How is it no one noticed this?" Sam’s finger traced the faint figure hidden in the shadows.

"People see what they want." Dean turned and headed up the hallway Sam scrambling after him. "None of these people in town really want to know the truth."

Grabbing Dean by the shoulder, Sam yanked him around, and leaned close. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean? That girl had a family who cares…"

"…Only about their own guilt and grief." he growled.

"Dean, I promised I wouldn’t ask any more questions, but you have to get a grip. If we’re going to pull this off we both have to be on the same page."

"Fine, lead on oh, great white hunter." He waved in the direction of the Culver’s office.

***

A few seconds later, they were standing at a dark wood door, brass plaque on it announcing the occupant as E. Harris Culver. Adjusting his tie, Sam glanced at Dean who was fiddling with his collar. He smacked at Dean’s hand.

"Damn it, Dean, quit twitching."

Dean glared at Sam and shoved his hands in his pockets as Sam lifted a hand and knocked.

A muffled man’s voice answered. "Come in."

Pushing open the door with a final glance at his brother Sam put on his best smile and pulled out his badge. "Hello, we’re…" he stopped mid-sentence when his gaze met a pair of familiar blue eyes. He swallowed hard and the ground felt as if it was crumbling beneath him.

"Well…well…it’s nice to see you again, Sam." Eric smiled wide. "I had no idea you were an FBI agent."


	7. Chapter 7

"So…partner." Dean drawled as he glanced from Eric Culver to Sam. "You’ve met Mr. Culver?"

Sam’s eyes widened to the point of almost popping from their sockets. Clearing his throat, he turned to Dean offering his best _fuck you_ glare and then spoke up, voice far steadier than his stomach. "Yes, I met him at the bar last night."

Dean smirked. "You didn’t say anything about a bar, Samuel." He drew his brother’s name out as if it were sticky strands of cotton candy.

Confused Eric’s gaze shifted between them in an attempt to decipher the reason for the tension between the two men. "Agent…?"

"Hendrix." Dean interrupted gaze never leaving Sam, who was turning a nice shade of plum. He turned to Eric eyes filled with a sudden abrupt coldness. "Dean Hendrix and Samuel here is my partner, been together for a year. He’s wet behind the ears so you’ll have to excuse his lack of professional conduct." A fleet smile crossed his face vanishing as soon as it appeared.

"Well, Agent Hendrix," Eric turned and motioned them to take a seat in the leather chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat gentleman."

Sam kicked Dean’s shin as soon as the other man turned away. Dean whipped his neck around aiming a withering look in his brother’s direction and mouthing _bitch_ at Sam. "Thank you, Mr. Culver."

Sinking into his chair, Eric smiled as they accepted the offered seats and leaned forward, one hand resting on his desk. "So what can a lowly local reporter/editor do for the FBI?"

Dean met Eric’s eyes with a growl. "Melanie Jenkins."

"Dean." Sam admonished. "We were assigned this case and since you penned all the local articles thought you might answer a few questions." He pulled out a notepad and tried not to let the sidelong glances Dean gave him rattle his cage.

"Melanie was beautiful and a talented photography artist. We grew up together, here in Hannibal. I’m glad to see the FBI decided to reopen her case." Eric leaned back fingers steepled beneath his chin, crystalline blue eyes damp with unshed tears.

"So you were friends?" Sam tried not to focus on the fact that less than twenty-four hours before he’d been on his knees sucking Eric’s cock in bathroom stall. How much more awkward could this get?

"Mr. Culver, were you and Melanie fuck buddies?" there was a clear sneer in Dean’s voice although his smile was polite.

Eric recoiled, blinking and slipped off his glasses. "Excuse me? I have to say I’ve never been so insulted…I don’t have words…"

"You’ll have to excuse my partner, Mr. Culver." Sam kicked Dean in the ankle smiling like Betty Crocker high on cocaine. "His social skills are far from refined." He hissed through his teeth as Dean’s foot came down on his.

"Well, I fully understand the need to be blunt, but not the need to be discourteous, Sam. Considering all things…" he smiled at Sam. “I’ll refrain from making a call to the field office on your partner."

Sam sighed in relief. "Thank you, Mr. Culver."

"Eric is fine."

Nodding, Sam began scribbling on his note pad. "Regardless, Eric…Dean had a valid question." There was a faint snort from Dean’s direction which Sam did his best to ignore. "Were you and Melanie ever in an intimate relationship?"

"No." Eric shook his head, reaching up to brush a thick shock of hair from his eyes, melancholy expression washing away his smile. "Mel and I were best friends. She was like my little sister…I mean in high school we sort of considered the idea, but nothing came of it. Our friends used to tease us about being connected at the hip…called us the _Bobbsey Twins_." He glanced up to meet Sam’s gaze. "God, I miss her so much."

Silence descended over the office as Dean scrutinized them with narrowed eyes. He’d figured Sam had gone to a bar last night, but whatever was going on between Sam and this local, had his hackles rising. If there was anything that got Dean Winchester’s panties in a twist faster, it was when he couldn’t put his finger on the obvious. It was annoying as all hell.

"You were best friends then." Dean questioned voice louder than normal in the office. "So, did she ever tell you about anything or anyone bothering her; maybe, a guy or a girl who couldn’t take no for an answer?"

Eric’s eyes widened. "What? No…what are you saying?"

Dean leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, "Nothing. It’s just a question."

"What my partner is saying is we believe Melanie was murdered." Sam’s voice was soft as he continued. "I hate to say this, but even you have to understand it’s unlikely she’s alive and considering the evidence accumulated we doubt she left town."

A sob escaped Eric as he stood and turned to the windows behind his desk. His shoulders trembled as he gazed out across the river lost in his grief as seconds ticked by. "Mel loved exploring the river banks." It came out a forlorn whisper. "After she left to attend college we grew apart…you know how it is. Family and work obligations…oh, I’ll call later. I never thought I wouldn’t get that chance with Mel."

Sam stood stepping around the desk, one hand settling on his shoulder. Images of his last night with Jess drifted to the surface. He knew what it was like—God he knew, but he didn’t know what to say. "I know you’re upset, but I have to ask. When was the last time you spoke to Melanie before her disappearance?"

Pushing his fingers through his hair Eric scrubbed at his eyes, "The night of the party. They were throwing a party in her brother’s honor at the Garden House Bed & Breakfast, he’d returned from a tour of duty in Iraq. I called her cell around three that afternoon and she was with her little sister Jinx trying to decide what to wear."

"Jinx," Dean raised an eyebrow. "What kind of name is Jinx?"

Turning, Eric wiped at the last remaining tears on his cheeks. "It’s her nickname…sort of a joke. Her actual name is Jennifer, but she always hated it because people called her Jenny. She said her parents had jinxed her into being a girlie girl." He laughed. "So, Jinx sort of stuck."

"So, she and her sister were deciding what to wear?" Sam began again.

"Yeah." he turned his back to them his grief too private to share. "We chatted for a few minutes…you know bullshit and all. I asked her if she wanted me to pick her up, but she said she’d drive herself, meet me at the party. Unfortunately, at the last minute we had a problem with the press downstairs. I had to put in an emergency call to the get maintenance in here to fix the fucker. I didn’t make it to the party until around twelve and by then Mel was already gone." A half-choked sob escaped Eric, chin dropping to his chest. "I never had a chance to say good-bye."

Sam felt his chest tighten and he glanced at Dean who was sitting silent, face calm and expressionless, but his eyes told Sam all he needed to know. "Look, Eric…I’m sorry…I know what it’s like to lose someone you love with no warning. We’ll go, but if you can remember anything…anything at all…" Sam scribbled down his cell number. "That’s my number and we’re staying at the Dogwood Lodge out on MO 79. Not far from the bridge."

"Just leave it on the desk." Eric whispered. "I promise I’ll call if I do."

Dropping the sheet of paper to the desk, Sam headed for the door. "Come on, Dean, let’s go."

Standing Dean headed for the door, and then paused, one foot in the hall. Sam gave him an incredulous look and hissed his name, but he didn’t seem to hear. Turning back his gaze settled on Culver’s back. "She loved you very much." He said and then stormed past Sam and headed down the stairs.

***

"What the hell was that, dude?"

Sam had expected this since they’d left the office of the Hannibal Courier, but it had been a silent drive. No questions, no sidelong glances, nothing Dean would have done until he’d pulled the car into the parking lot of the nearest fast food joint, which happened to be Burger King. Sam shivered as he thought of those commercials and the plastic-headed freak they used to advertise their food. Dean wanted to kill Snuggles, the fabric softener bear, and now he’d found his damn Snuggles—that freaky Burger King in white tights and royal-assed slippers.

"I said…what the fuck?"

Gaze refocusing from the restaurants’ sign to Dean was almost the hardest thing he’d ever done. It was right up there with the day he’d confessed to Jessica that he liked to play both sides of the fence. Of course, he doubted Dean’s reaction would be anywhere close to the understanding and forgiving reaction Jess’ was. He took a deep breath, stared Dean straight in the eye and lied through his teeth.

"What?"

Dean snorted. "You damn well know what I’m talking about college boy." He hesitated, frown deepening. "And don’t you dare give me the puppy eyes, Sammy."

"It’s…"

"Yeah, I fucking know, dude, always with the distractions. Did you know you don’t gripe about being called that unless you’re in full out denial mode?"

Sam’s eyebrows drew together, disappearing beneath his bangs. "Excuse me? As if, you’re not the king of denial. Jesus, Dean I was pissed last night…you pissed me off and I went to a bar. I had a fucking beer and Eric just happened to be there."

"See that’s exactly what I mean." Dean snarled. "You’re on a first name basis with some random dude you met in a bar? I don’t think…"

"Just drop it, Dean." He snapped. It wasn’t Dean’s fault he’d blown the first dude, who caught his eye.

"And that’s another thing. Exactly what the fuck do you mean when you say I pissed you off?"

Sam folded his arms lower lip pushing out like a belligerent child as he stared out the window. "Last time I checked you spoke perfect English, Dean."

"Dude…you kissed me!" Dean snarled.

Sam turned smirk twisting his lips. "Yeah, and your point is?"

Dean threw up his hands with an eye roll. "I’m your brother last time I checked."

"And again I say—what’s your point?"

"Your brother…" Dean drew the word _brother_ out in a long breath, emphasizing every syllable. "You kissed your brother you freak!"

It was Sam’s turn to snort this time. "And _you_ kissed me back, Dean. Don’t deny it. As I recall your tongue went quite enthusiastically into my mouth as well."

"Like I had a choice!" he huffed.

Sam shook his head and had an, _I’ve just stepped into the Twilight Zone,_ laugh just due south of insanity. He laughed so hard his ribs protested and tears filled his eyes.

"What?" Dean gave him a look, one that said he believed Sam had dropped into _Joker_ land.

Sam only shook his head harder laughter increasing in volume as well as intensity. That got him the most pissed off look he’d ever seen on Dean’s face, which only made the laughter worse. By now, he was on the verge of hyperventilating and the lovely shade of tomato-red Dean’s face had become wasn’t making it any easier.

"Fine, laugh it up, Funshine!"

Swallowing hard Sam turned to Dean his laughter trailing off in a series of desperate hiccups. "I love you."

That grabbed Dean’s attention. "What?"

Sam turned serious. "You heard me, Dean." His voice lowered to the velvet tone that had been haunting Dean since Sam was sixteen. "I love you. I always have. It’s just…"

"Just what?" he squeaked eyes wide.

Whether it was terror or shock, Sam couldn’t quite tell. He studied Dean’s face and Bronwen’s words all those months ago in Connecticut came back again—she had known. All these years he’d disavowed the sensations that had stirred in him since puberty. Everything he loved about his brother rose up from the murky depths of his mind and he released a breath raw with desire.

The sexy swagger in Dean’s stride as he walked.

The sassy mouth begging to be kissed into submission.

Those eyes so like his and yet they held so much more; a kaleidoscope of colors and emotions that had Sam dancing like a puppet on a string most days. Dean’s eyes could burn straight through your defenses and demand your heart and soul with but a simple glance.

"I love you." He repeated as he shifted across the seat, drawing close to Dean. "I always have, Dean. I just couldn’t accept it…it was to terrifying to contemplate. You’re my brother, we share blood, but you’ve been so much more to me. Father, mother, best friend…" eyes focused on Dean’s face with concentration he normally reserved for research and it seemed simple. Lean forward, press his lips against Dean’s again, and take another taste of what he’d been desirous of for seven long years. Even when he’d been with Jess he dreamed about Dean, but the dreams had been few and far in-between during his days at Stanford because he never imagined he would see his brother again. Dean had become an unattainable fantasy tormenting his subconscious mind with no more solidity than the spirits they laid to rest, but as much destructive power.

"What?" Dean whispered.

"I’ve wanted you for so damn long, Dean. Craved more, but it hurt to think about it."

His gaze traced his brother’s face, now endowed with something other than anger, roseate color bringing out the emerald in his eyes with clarity. Adam’s apple bobbing, Dean swallowed hard, eyes never leaving his brother’s face, and Sam noted the shadow of whiskers along the fluid stretch of throat and jaw. Sam drew nearer and saw Dean’s pupils blow out into darkness that swallowed all but a delicate ring of emerald, eyelids lowering, and lashes brushing against the delicate, bruised skin beneath his eyes.

"Sam? What’s happening here?"

"I think we’re finally getting somewhere." his fingers caressed Dean’s leg.

"But, where?"

Sam’s reply was a single word as he stretched out his other hand, fingers curling around the back of Dean’s neck to pull him closer. "Right here." his voice was a warm rumble as their mouths met with a tenderness the first kiss had lacked.

He felt warm air against his lips as Dean whimpered in the back of his throat, and his tongue darted out to lick across his soft, full lower lip that spoke of sin incarnate. His teeth grasped Dean’s lower lip and tugged as his fingers slid up cupping the camber of Dean’s skull, hair nothing but silky prickles against his palm. Pulling back, he released his brother’s lip and smiled.

"Dean." Sam whispered as he felt a shudder travel through his brother’s body. "Don’t be scared. I’d never do anything you didn’t want."

Dean’s eyes opened, glassy, and bright with desire, "I…Jesus, Sammy."

"I know…God I know, Dean." His eyes searched his brother’s face for telltale signs he was getting ready to lash out, run, but they weren’t there. There was only confusion, need, and a fear that made Sam’s heart suffer. "I’m scared, too."

A tiny smile appeared at the corner of Dean’s mouth. "What about, Eric?" He whispered as Sam’s fingers tightened in his hair, their foreheads resting together.

"Eric?" Sam frowned.

Dean chuckled. "Do I look stupid, dude? Something happened between you didn’t it?"

"It doesn’t matter. I was stupid…let’s leave it at that."

Glancing up at Sam through his lashes, Dean snorted. "You want me to go to hell in a hand-basket lil’ bro’ then I expect some honesty."

Sam pulled away. "I made a mistake, Dean. That’s all it was."

"Did you fuck him?" Dean asked eyes searching Sam’s face. "Or did he fuck you?"

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam’s eyes went wide. "Blunt much?"

Dean snorted, "Only when my immortal soul is on the line, man."

"No, he didn’t fuck me and no I didn’t fuck him."

Satisfied with Sam’s answer for the moment, Dean flipped the ignition, and the Impala roared to life. "Let’s go through the drive-thru. We can take the food back to the motel and see if maybe we can locate Melanie’s family." He maneuvered the car into the drive-thru lane and grinned at Sam, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and that worried Sam.

"Actually," Sam returned the smile, "I think I know where I can find out."

"Where?" Dean asked as the speaker squawked to life.

***

They arrived at the Quik Trip a few minutes later. There’d been no more discussion in the car although Dean kept giving Sam sly glances as he munched on his fries. The silence was preferable for Sam after the uncomfortable conversation in Burger King’s parking lot. He wasn’t even sure if Cissy Jacobs would be here, but it was more of a lead than anything else they had. Eric was too damn emotional, even after a year, to give them much pertaining to Melanie or her family.

"So, Sam," Dean asked as he shoved another fry in his mouth, "how is Quik Trip any help with finding the Jenkins family?"

"Remember the cashier I met here?"

Dean shoved more fries in his mouth. "Yeah?" he shrugged picking up his coke to wash the fries down.

"Think about what Dad used to tell us. There are certain people in any town that’ll have the answers to the questions we want to ask, bartenders, mechanics…" he trailed off with a smirk.

"Small towns…you got to love them." Dean grinned as he reached in the bag and pulled out his Whopper.

"Bingo." Sam grinned. "Cissy Jacobs knows about what’s going on and she’s tuned in."

"Tuned in?" Dean took a bite of his burger. "Tuned in how?"

"She’s psychic."

Dean chewed slowly for a moment, thoughtful expression in his eyes. Swallowing he turned back to Sam. "What are you, a magnet? How do you…?"

"She read my aura. She sees auras and she knew I was like her."

Sam detested talking about this shit. Since he’d told Dean about the dreams, before they returned to Lawrence, Dean had worried himself into fit. Well, as much as he allowed himself to show and then there Connecticut. Sam was still at a loss to explain that and Dean sure in the hell wasn’t talking about it. The final confrontation in the well beneath Bara-Hack wasn’t something either of them had come to terms with and Sam was too frightened to broach the subject. What he’d done there had freaked him out, at least what he could remember of it.

"Hey."

He turned to see Dean studying him with a worried expression that almost made him laugh again.

"This isn’t like that?" Dean searched Sam’s face for something, anything that would ease his unspoken fears.

"Like what?" confusion filled Sam’s eyes.

Dean sighed, "Bara-Hack." It was the first time he’d even acknowledged their _little day trip_ to the woods since they’d left Connecticut in their rear-view mirror and a cloud of dust.

"Dean…"

"No." Dean held out a hand. "I know you blame yourself for what happened out there. Don’t bother denying it."

Chin against his chest Sam bit his lip. "Dean, we don’t have to go over this. Not now." He glanced up through his bangs, eyes shining. "But I think we need to talk before everything blows up in our faces. I’m worried that’s all. Nothing else, man, I swear."

With a sharp nod, he turned back to the burger clenched in his hand. "I know, Sammy. I’m not ready yet, okay?"

"Okay." Sam agreed. "I’ll go…" he motioned towards the Quik Trip.

Dean wrapped the remains of the burger and dropped it back in the bag. "I’ll be waiting."

Car door open, Sam stepped out, loosening his tie, and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated seeing Dean like this, but he needed to get it out before it killed him. Funny the speech Dean had given him on Blackwater Ridge was coming back to haunt him. Dean had told him the same thing about the anger he’d been holding in over Jess’ death. Leaning down Sam glanced at Dean and the faraway look in his brother’s eyes made his chest tighten. "Twenty minutes. I’ll be right back."

"Okay."

***

Cissy Jacobs glanced up from where she was behind the counter stocking cigarettes. "Hey." She smiled, but it faded as she saw the expression in Sam’s eyes. "What’s wrong?"

Shaking his head Sam glanced around the store at the few customers that wandered the aisles, oblivious. "Not here."

"Hang on a sec." She picked up the phone and dialed an extension, "Yeah, Gerry what you doing? Okay…well can I take my lunch break? Okay." She hung up the phone and glanced up at Sam. "Ten minutes and let’s take a drive."

Sam turned and walked out of the store.

***

"Cissy this is my brother Dean."

She nodded, studying him with intense eyes, "Nice to meet you, Dean."

Nodding back, Dean revved up the engine, and backed out of the parking lot, "So, where we going?"

"Cardiff Hill." she leaned back in the seat as Sam turned eyes going wide. "Don’t be so shocked, Sam. That’s where all this crap started." She glanced back at Dean who was guiding the car into downtown Hannibal. "At least this shit with her." she focused on the passing landscape.

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded.

"I think you know." Her eyes never left the landscape beyond the window. "She’s touched him. Now you end it or he isn’t leaving here."

"Dean?"

Dean snorted. "Do you mind I’m right here, dude."

Cissy chuckled, dark sound that drilled into Dean’s bones. "Barely, but then you were barely here when you cruised up into town."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean snapped as he turned into the parking lot at the base of Cardiff Hill. Sliding the car into a parking slot, he cut the engine and turned in the seat, eyes narrowed. "I said…what the hell does that mean?"

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

"Shut the hell up, Sam." He growled. "I want to know what your little psychic friend is implying."

Cissy leaned forward meeting Dean’s furious gaze. "If you know I’m psychic then you also know I read auras, honey. I knew one thing when I got in this car. The darkest of spirits has touched you and whatever it did it’s rotting away your aura—drawing out all your energy. You and that girl got a great deal in common. She sensed you the moment you hit Missouri dirt."

"You mean the spirit?" Sam frowned.

She pushed open the door, gravel crunching beneath her sneakers, "Ready for a walk, boys?"

***

The stairs were steep as all hell, following the natural slope of the hill that rose up to tower high over the town and the river beyond. Sam was surprised Cissy climbed them with such ease while talking, voice steady as her breathing.

"There were things Melanie’s family didn’t know about their daughter. Things no sane person would let anyone know in a small town like this. My family, we been here since right after the Civil War. We were freed slaves, they’ve known we were _sorcerers_ since and its kept us safe from fools."

"What’re you saying?" Sam asked. "Was Melanie psychic, too?"

"Nope, girl just decided to walk another path outside her Episcopalian upbringing."

"She was a witch." Dean interrupted their climb to stare out across the river.

Cissy snorted. "Was a time they were called that, but now they prefer Wiccan. She left to go to college down in St. Louie and her eyes opened. Came to my momma a few times when she was here during breaks. She was a member of a coven and my momma warned her not to go letting it be common knowledge."

"So," Sam stopped understanding dawning in his eyes, "that’s how she got past the salt. She’s not evil and she isn’t looking for…"

"Vengeance." she released a breath. "She was an earth child…salt is of the earth boys…a creation of God or whatever you want to call the power out there. Salt would not stop her, doubt if it’d send her spirit to its final rest either. She’s here for more than simple vengeance, but she needs someone who can understand." She shot a pointed look at Dean and then resumed the climb.

Dean turned from the winding water in the distance and trudged up the steps shoulders slouched, hands deep in his pockets, and clenched tight. "So, she came to me because…?"

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Cause it happened to her, too."

"What?" Dean came to a dead stop, grabbing her shoulder.

"You know, just won’t admit it aloud." Her eyes softened as her hand settled over his. "Boy like my momma says just because you deny something, don’t mean it don’t exist’. It’s like the proverbial white elephant standing in the corner of the room. You can ignore the damn elephant, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t still there. You and Mel have a connection…dark pain eating you up from the inside out. Only difference is you survived and she didn’t."

Sam swallowed hard as he watched the color drain from his brother’s face. "Dean?"

Yanking his hand away from Cissy’s grip, he backed up. "I don’t…" he started and then spun around, railing hitting him in the stomach as he lurched forward and vomited.

"What the hell?" Sam turned on Cissy anger and fear in his eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, your brother just came to a conclusion he should have months ago. Finally, allowed himself to remember the truth."

Sinking to his ass, Dean sat on the cold concrete, knees drawn up, and head resting on his folded arms. "I don’t want to remember." His voice cracked. "I can’t remember."

Motioning to Sam to stay, Cissy settled next to Dean as he rocked back and forth face hidden against his arms. Her hand settled on the knotted muscles between his shoulder blades, "No, fault of your own." She whispered. "Folks like you, me, and your brother...darkness scents us out like a damn bloodhound. Times it finds us and God save us when it does."

Sam swallowed back his emotions as Cissy spoke to Dean, and Dean alone. He wanted to grab his brother and hang on until all the bad shit dissipated in the cool autumn air, but it never worked like that. Even though they’d hunted their entire lives, he knew a balance needed maintained. Without the darkness, there would be no light, without evil no good, simplistic maybe, but very true never the less.

"You don’t know." Dean whispered. "No one knows."

Hushing Dean, she began stroking his head, fingers threading in his hair, stroking as a mother did to ease a child’s nightmare. "She knows."

He lifted his head, face dry, but eyes damp and red-rimmed with emotions he’d suppressed for six months. "Does she?"

Cissy nodded. "She’s here because she was betrayed and her betrayer walks these streets. Remember boys…" she gave Sam a sharp look, "evil isn’t always demonic. Sometimes it wears an innocent face.


	8. Chapter 8

With a final stroke to Dean’s hair, she pulled herself to her feet and headed back up the stairs toward the lighthouse. Sam was angrier than he’d ever been eyes narrow as he headed after Cissy, his long legs catching up with ease.

"That’s it?" Sam screamed. "You rip my brother’s insides out and then turn away as if it’s nothing?"

"Sam."

"No, Dean! This is bullshit!"

Cissy turned to face him, dark eyes furious. "I wasn’t the one that fucked your brother up. I wasn’t the one that drug your sorry asses to Hannibal. And I sure and the hell wasn’t the one that came to you for help."

Sam’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving. "I don’t get it…why even come? Why help?"

"Because," she motioned around them, “this is my home and has been for well over a hundred years." Taking two steps down, she looked up at Sam’s furious face. "Do you think I want a killer and a rapist walking the streets?"

"Sam?"

The tone of Dean’s voice captured Sam’s attention the anger burbling up in his gut seconds before forgotten. When his gaze met his brother’s he knew something was horribly wrong. "Dean?"

Dean’s face had drained of color leaving him pasty white, freckles standing out, and it caused Sam to think the stupidest thing. He’d had no idea Dean had so many freckles. Sam’s gut twisted as he met his wide eyes and abruptly Dean’s legs folded beneath him, body pitching forward.

"Dean!" Sam shrieked, diving forward to catch his brother in his arms. "Jesus, Dean." 

He could feel tremors travel through Dean’s body even before the seizure hit full force. Dean’s muscles seized up, body going rigid in his arms as he began convulsing wildly. Sam captured his wrists, trying his best to still his brother’s flailing arms, and as he did, he choked back a sob. 

"Oh, god," Sam whispered terrified by what he was witnessing and looked up as Cissy knelt next to him on the stairs. "Cissy what the hell’s happening? What’s wrong with him?"  
"I don’t know, Sam." She replied frantic as she dug in her pocket, pulling out her cell phone.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean as his back bowed. "What are you doing?"

"I’m calling for an ambulance. Just calm down and try to keep him still. Yes, I need an ambulance at Cardiff Hill. My friend he’s having a seizure…No, I don’t think so," looking up at Sam she frowned. "Is he epileptic?"

His head swayed at the question, tears spilling down his cheeks. "No…never. He’s healthy as a horse." He choked back a hysterical laugh.

"No, he’s not…How long?" She glanced at her watch. "Around maybe a minute possibly two tops. No, he didn’t hit his head. We were just standing…yes…okay." Sucking in a deep breath, her gaze drifted back to Sam as the sound of distant sirens penetrated the air. "Yeah…I can hear them. Thank you." Cissy flipped the phone shut. "Should be here shortly, Sam."

Clutching Dean to his chest, Sam searched her face for an answer. "I don’t understand. I don’t…" he swallowed hard as her fingertips caressed his tear slick cheek.  
"It’ll be okay." She whispered, although her expression said anything but.

 

***

 

"Mr. Winchester?"

Sam’s gaze lifted from the floor, he’d been pacing for the past half-hour, as a young woman around thirty approached him. "Yes." He ran his fingers through his hair nerves on edge. "How’s my brother?"

Pushing back an errant strand of hair, she offered a reassuring smile. "Well, the seizure stopped in the ambulance on the way here. That’s a good sign. Right now, he’s awake, but a bit out of it. We gave him a sedative so we could do the CAT scan." Her smile widened. "Your brother is quite the colorful young man."

Sam sighed in relief. "Yeah, that’s a nice way of putting it. Can I see him?"

"Of course, Ms. Jacobs is sitting with him at the moment."

Sam turned to go, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the woman clear her throat. "Was there something else?"

"Yes, there was. I see your brother was here a couple of days ago. Do you mind me asking about the bandage on his arm?"

Taking a deep breath Sam turned. "He cut himself. We were screwing around in our motel room. You know how it is…it was an accident."

She nodded thoughtful expression in her eyes. "It says here that he was drugged. That you…"

"I know what it says." Sam couldn’t think about this, not now.

"May I suggest that your brother perhaps seek some counseling? After a trauma such as this it’s standard for the victim to…"

"He’s fine." Sam replied voice strained. "Besides we’re not from here. We’re just passing through and we’ll be leaving in a few days to head back home." He hated lying to anyone, but he wasn’t going to suggest Dean speak with a shrink. God knows he’d never hear the end of it if he did. "Look, he’ll be fine. Do you mind if I…?" He inclined his head towards the rooms down the corridor.

"Of course, Mr. Winchester."

As Sam walked away, he felt her eyes on him and the sudden thought if they were to resolve the entire Mel thing then they needed to do it straightway entered his mind. Small towns had their good points, but they also had their bad points. It wouldn’t be long before someone commenced inquiries into the two new young men in town and with two trips to the local hospital in as few days; the shit could hit the fan.

 

***

 

Locating Dean’s room was simple since Cissy was standing outside the door looking a bit worse for wear. She was staring at the floor, back against the wall, and fingers moving in delicate patterns through the condensation along the side of a Coke bottle. Before Sam even had a chance to open his mouth, she spoke without looking up.

"It wasn’t medical."

Sam frowned, gnawing his lower lip. "What’re you saying? Did you see something?"

She lifted her head with a frustrated breath. "There was something there…I’d be guessing, but I think the proximity to the lighthouse caused it."

"You’re saying that Melanie possessed him."

"No," she shook her head. "Maybe…hell I don’t know, Sam. All I know is there was something wrong with his aura. It was as if I was seeing a double exposure in a photo. I’ve only seen something like that once before."

"And when was it?" Sam attempted not to sound angry, but the entire situation with this damn specter of Melanie Jenkins was beginning to rattle his cage. Since they’d entered this town, Dean had been acting weird, not that he hadn’t before, but at least that weird he’d become used to since Connecticut.

"You." she answered

"What?"

She sighed, "When you came into the store earlier. There was this odd smudge around your aura that’s why I asked you what was wrong, why I went with you. I can’t explain it, Sam, but I’m going to talk to my mama. If anyone has a clue then it’d be her and to be honest I’m scared as all hell. Scared for that brother of yours and scared for you."

Sam leaned against the wall positive his legs might turn to jelly. He tried to push down the knot of fear beginning to strangle him. "I don’t get it. Why would this spirit attach itself to Dean? Sure she was murdered, but…" suddenly it hit him, his eyes going wide. "You said when we were up there you didn’t want a murderer and a ‘rapist’ walking the streets."

"Yes, I did. Sam whoever killed Melanie Jenkins didn’t simply kill her." Tears welled in her eyes. "The night she disappeared my mama had a vision…a dream that ended her up in the hospital. She never told anyone. Said what was the point, ain’t like the cops would listen to a demented old lady about visions and such."

"What did she see, Cissy?" Sam’s chest tightened and somehow he knew the answer before the words ever left her mouth.

"Bastard raped her."

 

***

 

He could hear her, murmuring in his ear, or perhaps she was in his head. God, he was sick to death of these freaky fuckers infesting his brain and poking about as if he was an all you could eat buffet on a Sunday afternoon after church.

Dean.

Yeah, that’s my name don’t wear it out, he thought.

You have to come.

Come. Now that was something he hadn’t done in a few weeks. He chuckled at his little play on words. It wasn’t as if Sam was the only intelligent Winchester in the bunch.

I’m so cold…

Well, get a freakin’ blanket then, bitch.

An abrupt excruciating pain collided with his brain and he keened deep in his throat.

He knows…

He knows what and who the hell is he?

He knows that you know…

I know jack shit right now. One thing I do know is I’m finished playing games. You want something from me. You fucking tell me without all the emo-drama okay, sweetheart. You want this finished we have to come to terms with the what, where, and the damn who.

The lighthouse

Shards of images crashed into his brain sending him reeling into darkness.

 

***

 

"Dean?"

He hissed as he tried to focus on Sam’s voice. He wanted to tell him to quit yelling so damn loud because he was right here. Of course, his voice didn’t want to work and that only pissed him off more. He tried clearing his throat a couple of times and all that came out was a poor excuse for a guttural growl.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Damn spooks…" he managed before his vocal cords decided they were going on vacation again.

Wincing, he focused on Sam’s worried face, a honey-brown smear, but he damn well knew that expression far too well not to imagine it. Sam had this way of looking spastic without ever freaking out. He’d come to know it as the panic face. His brother had perfected that face by the time he was four years old and it had never failed to annoy, amuse, and downright tickle him. Of course, Dean was far from being amused now. His head felt like he’d been on an all-night bender in tequila town.

"Quit looking at me like that, Sam." He rasped as his vision slowly cleared. "I’m not dead yet."

He could hear Sam exhale the breathe he’d been holding and he tried his patented Dean Winchester gotcha’ smirk although he was damn sure it came out pathetic. He blinked what felt like sandy grit from his eyes and sighed.

"What?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it a few times before the words came tumbling out like a waterfall. "God, Dean…I thought…"

"See now that’s the problem, Sammy. You think too damn much." Dean grunted as he pushed himself up. "Like I said…not dead yet and it takes more than a spook’s poor imitation of the Vulcan mind meld to kill a Winchester." He chuckled which turned into a cough almost as soon as he did it.

Eyes glinting, Sam stared, lower lip caught between his teeth. A sure sign he wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure if he should.

"What?" Dean groaned.

"Vulcan mind meld?" Sam lifted an eyebrow.

Dean shook his head trying to clear the remaining cobwebs from his brain. "Yeah, bitch decided to play pool with what’s left of my marbles. Can I have some water? I swear it feels like I swallowed the fucking Sahara."

Standing, Sam fumbled for the water pitcher managing somehow to get more water in the plastic cup than on the table despite his shaking hands. He turned to notice Dean staring at him with narrow eyes. "What?" His eyes widened.

"Sam, it’s okay."

His head dropped, chin resting on his chest for a moment, and Dean waited in silence as his brother tried to get a grip on his emotions. At last, Sam cleared his throat, looking up, and crossed the few inches separating them. Handing Dean the cup he tried to ignore the fact his hands were still trembling.

"What happened out there?"

Accepting the offered cup, Dean took a careful sip. "Like I said stupid bitch decided to do a Vulcan mind meld." He frowned, eyes focused on the cup. "It was like she was inside my brain forcing these images, but…"

"What?" Sam settled back into the chair.

"I don’t know." Shaking his head, he took another sip of the water as he tried to sort it all out. He recalled insignificant fragments of what she’d driven into his brain, but beyond those, he had no idea what to tell Sam. Glancing up he met Sam’s eyes and swallowed hard at the fear in his brother’s expression. "Sam I’m…I…"

"So am I, Dean." he reached out removing the cup from Dean’s trembling hands. "They said you could go as soon as they get the results back from the CAT scan. So maybe we can pack our bags…"

Sam’s cell rang interrupting whatever he’d been about to suggest. 

"Who the hell?" he struggled to free it from his pocket and glanced at the incoming number. "Excuse me."

"Sure." Dean replied as Sam stood and retreated from the room. "It isn’t like I’m going anywhere." He mumbled reaching for the remote.

 

***

 

Sam paced the garden area that had become far too familiar over the course of the past few days. He’d spent his fair share of time in hospitals, but he couldn’t wait to see Hannibal fade away in the rearview mirror of the Impala.

"Sam."

He spun around with a relieved smile. "Bronwen," motioning her to join him on one of the concrete benches he continued. "I’m sorry I haven’t called. It’s been insane…and I…"

"No worries, Sam. It isn’t like I’m going anywhere." She captured his hands in hers. "How is he doing?"

Shaking his head, Sam sighed. "Honestly? I don’t know. First the bar, then the dreams, and now this…I thought I’d lost him and I can’t keep this up."

Her thumb massaged soothing circles across the back of Sam’s hand. "You’re stronger than you think, Sam. So is Dean. I thought you’d figured that out after everything you went through back in Connecticut."

"I thought I had." Sam chuckled, a dry humorless sound. "It’s just…I don’t know. It’s like the harder I try the further he pulls away, Wen." He glanced up to see her smiling. "I told him."

"How you felt?"

"Yes and I expected him to hit me, curse at me, anything, but what he did."

"And what did he do?" Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"He asked me if I fucked another man." Sam snorted. "I had a fight with him the night we left the hospital and headed out to a bar. I didn’t intend on it being anything but a drink…I met someone though." He pulled away from Bronwen and scrubbed his face wearily. "Then when I came back…" he paused throat tightening.

"What, Sam?"

"I don’t understand what she wants from us. This spirit she’s nudging around inside Dean’s head, showing him things he can’t or won’t share with me." He released a frustrated grunt. "He won’t talk to me about it…and I don’t know how to get him to talk to me." Tears welled in his eyes he brushed away in anger.

"Maybe you should tell him."

His gaze lifted from the ground, eyes filled with confusion. "Tell him what? He already knows how I feel…he knows and…"

"About what you experienced when he was held captive by Ingley."

Sheer panic crossed Sam’s face as he stood too quick and turned his back to her. "I can’t." He managed through a suddenly tight throat.

"Or is it you won’t," Bronwen drifted to his side, hand warm against his cheek as she urged him to turn and face her. "Sam you’re hurting as much as he is. Maybe Dean believes he’s protecting you from what he experienced by not telling you."

Sam sniffed, brushing at his eyes again. "What if he isn’t? What if I tell him and it’s the final straw? I can’t lose him, Wen…you know that. He’s all I have left. After mom, Jess, and now Dad…I can’t lose him, too."

"Maybe you won’t." She studied him with fierce crystal-clear eyes. "Maybe…just maybe it will bring you closer."

"But what if it doesn’t?" Sam bit his lip.

Bronwen smiled. "You’ll never know if you don’t try, Sam."

 

***

 

By the time, Sam returned to Dean’s room the sun was beginning to set. Bronwen had promised to call before she left in a flurry of cotton layers the scent of lavender trailing behind. Something in her eyes had made Sam twitch and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He pushed his thoughts to the side as he opened the door to find Dean dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, heels kicking out a rhythm against the steel frame. He reminded Sam of a petulant five year old.

"Where have you been? Doc gave me the okay to blow this popsicle stand with the requirement she not see or hear from me again." Dean snorted.

Sam frowned. "I was talking to Bronwen."

Sitting up Dean gave Sam a curious glance. "Bronwen? What’s she doing calling from Connecticut? We haven’t heard from her in six months."

Sam’s face flushed with guilt. "She’s here in Hannibal." He replied thoughts drifting again as Dean stood and head for the door. Glancing at Dean his frown deepened as he waited, but he didn’t say anything else. "Where are you going?" He reached in his pocket pulling out the car keys and dangling them from his fingers with a faint jingle. "I have the keys."

Another snort drifted over Dean’s shoulder, "The Old Lighthouse."

"No you’re not."

Dean turned back one hand on the door. "What the hell do you mean no?"

"The last time we were there you ended up having a fucking seizure." Sam snapped.

"Sammy…"

"It’s Sam god damn it and how many times do I have to tell you that?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean huffed. "Fine…Sam. Seizure or no seizure we have to go back."

"Is it you or that fucking spirit talking, Dean?" Sam blew a strand of hair from his eyes.

"It’s me dumb ass." Dean growled. "Girlfriend ain’t in control me and you know that. Now get your shit into gear." He pushed the door and strolled out into the hallway with Sam hot on his heels.

"We’re not going."

"Yes, we are, Sam."

"No, we’re not damn it."

Dean came to a dead stop, spinning on his heels, and Sam came close to walking right into him. "I’m not arguing with you, Sam. We’re going whether I have to wrestle you for the keys or not. We have to take care of this…" Dean groaned. "Sam, don’t you dare give me the puppy eyes. Sam…" he growled in warning.

"Dean, please." Sam whispered, eyes bright with fear and worry. "Let’s do it tomorrow."

Frustrated, Dean turned away. "Fine tomorrow." he stomped off cursing a blue streak beneath his breath. Something about fucking puppy eyes, lip wibbles, and annoying little brothers, but there was no true anger in the words.

 

***

 

They stopped long enough to refill the tank of the Impala and gather enough junk food to feed an army in Sam’s opinion, but he decided to hold his tongue. Winning one argument with Dean today was enough he wasn’t going to press his luck. Dean had insisted on driving and that was another argument Sam let go. After all, it was Dean’s car and it wasn’t as if he could stop him without causing a huge scene in a public place.

When they reached the motel, Dean excused himself to disappear into the bathroom, bag in tow. Seconds later the shower came on the sound of water not quiet covering Dean’s voice as he sang. Third argument lost Sam thought as he stripped off the tie that had been suffocating him for most of the afternoon. He wasn’t sure if he was caving to Dean’s whims because he was exhausted or because he was scared out of his mind. There was the other option as well, but since the talk and the kiss at the Burger King, he hadn’t had much time to process what he’d told Dean.

Tugging the shirt from his slacks, he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks, wiggling his toes with a sigh as they dug into the thick carpeting. Jesus, all he wanted was to sleep for a million years, but he didn’t see that happening anytime soon. Rooting through the plastic bags, he pulled out a bottle of Coke and a Power Bar with a grin. Well, at least Dean was starting to accept what he considered his strange eating habits. Crossing the room, he flopped down at the computer and booted it up, stretching his legs out, and peeling open the Power Bar. He groaned as he took the first bite and he let his eyes drift shut in pure pleasure. God, he hadn’t realized how damn hungry he’d been.

"You’re not going to tell me that nasty thing is better than sex…Are you?"

He nearly flipped the chair backwards as he cursed beneath his breathe at how quiet Dean could be. Turning he smiled at Dean and then without any conscious thought allowed his eyes to roam over his brother’s body.

Dean’s back was to him and he was rooting in his bag, mumbling to himself. The well- worn jeans he wore hugged his ass, beads of water still trailing along his naked spine, and the towel forgotten around his neck. His long slender toes flexed and dug into the carpet, body a nervous bundle of energy. Even when Dean was still, he was never truly still.

"Have you seen my favorite gray tee shirt?" He grumbled tossing things helter-skelter across his bed. "Cause I’d really like to find it."

Sam stood crossing the room, arms slithering around Dean’s waist, and caused his brother to jump. Mossy eyes went wide as a flicker of annoyance skimmed through them along with something else. "You have at least five gray tee shirts, Dean." Sam whispered pulling Dean closer.

Lips parting, Dean gasped as he felt Sam’s erection press against him through the soft wool of his slacks. "What the hell, Sam? Could you let me go?"

"Don’t think so." Sam grinned as Dean squirmed.

"This is not…"

Sam halted any further protest by pressing his mouth to Dean’s as if he were trying to swallow him. As he suckled first his top lip and then his bottom, he could feel Dean go limp in the circle of his arms, a breathy moan escaping his mouth. His fingers ran up and down his shower warm spine as he pulled back enough to trail hot wet kisses along Dean’s fresh shaven jaw.

"Sammy…" Dean groaned as his lips reached the point below his ear, “What are you doing?"

"Kissing you." his breath was warm and smelled of honey from the Power Bar, as he licked along the taunt tendon in Dean’s throat, "Tasting you."

Dean swallowed hard his words far too breathy to hold any annoyance. "Do I look like a popsicle to you?" His head fell back giving Sam’s wandering lips better access, all logical thought fleeing with the feel of teeth nipping the hard edge of his jaw.

"Taste like one." Sam mumbled as he continued his slow assault, "Maybe strawberry or better yet cherry."

"Do not…" Dean’s token protest fell on deaf ears. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think this is the right time to be…?" the question ended with a groan.

Sam chuckled as he sucked hard on the pulse point of Dean’s throat. He couldn’t stop this unbidden need to taste Dean, to mark him with lips and teeth, "That feel good?" he questioned as he peppered kisses down his shoulder, one for each freckle he noticed.

All Dean could do was hang on for dear life, legs shaking with a need he’d suppressed for seven long years and now it was free he couldn’t seem to control it again. His arms seemed to lift of their own accord, hand tangling in Sam’s thick hair and the other settled at his waist, busy fingers creeping beneath the wrinkled cotton of his dress shirt to seek out warm skin.

"Sammy…" his fingers brushed up his brother’s back, "I’m scared."

Drawing back Sam cupped his jaw, turning him so they were facing, thumb caressing kiss-swollen lips. "Nothing wrong with being scared, Dean." he whispered as Dean’s eyes drifted open and he noticed the beads of water like unshed tears clinging his thick lashes. "I told you we won’t do anything you don’t want."

"I know." His gaze lowered to the patch of honey gold skin peeping through Sam’s open collar. "But I don’t know what it is I want."

Sam pressed his forehead to Dean’s with a sigh. "Do you want us?"

Lifting his head, Dean looked into his brother’s eyes and knew the answer. He’d known the answer since Sam was sixteen on that night in Colorado. There had never been any doubt what he’d wanted then. "Yes," he whispered barely loud enough for Sam to hear, "I’m just. I don’t know Sammy." His voice cracked.

Hand sliding from Dean’s jaw, Sam grabbed his hand, fingers folding together, and guided him to the other bed. Urging Dean down against the mattress, he folded his long body next to him and pulled him into his arms. Sam pressed a firm yet gentle kiss into Dean’s damp hair, and shifted so his brother’s head was resting in the hollow beneath his chin. "It’s okay. I can wait, Dean…hell I’ve waited this long what’s a little longer."

Dean’s arm curled hesitantly around his waist and he could feel his warm breath, smelling of mint, stir the collar of his shirt. "I’m broken." The words were faint, but they caused Sam’s heart to ache with longing. "Dirty."

"No…you’re not, Dean."

Dean’s body trembled in his arms as he rubbed soothing circles down his back and he heard his breath catch in his throat. "You don’t know, Sammy…you just don’t know."

"Then tell me." Sam whispered into his hair as he tried to force back angry tears. 

Damn, James Ingley…damn him for doing this to Dean. 

"It’s okay…you can tell me. It wasn’t your fault, Dean…Never your fault."

"Can’t…" Dean burrowed deeper into Sam’s chest. "You won’t want me."

The tears he’d been fighting seeped beneath Sam’s lashes, trailing in silence down his cheeks. "I’ll always want you, Dean. That won’t ever change." He exhaled. He had to be strong for both of them if Dean were to ever have a chance to heal.

"But you said I’d have to let you go."

Sam cursed himself for his foolish words back in Chicago.

He’d been scared, hyped up on adrenaline, and angry at the entire fucking situation. He’d walked in on Dean calling their father yet again, begging him to come out of hiding and help them. Why Dean had even bothered only made him angrier. He’d called before…hell so had Sam himself, when Dean was dying, but it’d never done any good. Now looking back, he realized how cruel his words had been. Dean had been trying to open up to him, reach out, and he’d shoved him away like so much trash.

"Dean, I didn’t mean it. I was scared and angry." He offered, a hitch in his throat, "I could never leave you."

Dean’s shoulders began shaking with silent sobs, hot tears soaking the cotton shirt beneath his cheek and Sam tightened his grip. After all these months, he was beginning to see the truth. Sure, he’d been angry with their dad, but he’d been angrier with himself. Dean had always protected him, took care of him, and for the first time in his life Sam felt as if he’d failed Dean. He hadn’t got there in time to save him from all the pain and humiliation Ingley had forced on him. Raped and tortured, Dean had been on the verge of death when he’d found him, not just broken physically, but mentally as well.

He continued stroking Dean’s back, soothing, and protecting him as the pain he’d pushed down for so long rose to the surface. "I’ve got you it’s going to be okay…I’ve got you."   
He whispered as they clung to each other. "I promise I won’t ever leave you."

As the minutes ticked by Sam drifted into a restless slumber, Dean falling into one as well as his breathing eased. He wanted to explain so much to Dean. So much, he wanted his brother to understand, and now with everything that had happened the urgency was greater. For Sam, it wasn’t about sex, never had been, but with what Dean had been through it might be what he believed it was.

For Sam though it was about love, pure and simple.

There was no one, not even Jess, engraved in his heart so deep. He’d loved Jess of that he had no doubt. He missed her terribly and he still carried blame for her death every damn day, but with Dean, it was different. What he’d told Dean earlier was the truth.

Dean had always been there for him. He was his best friend, his brother, more of a father than John had ever been, and more of a mother than fate allowed Mary to be. He’d soothed him when he’d woke from nightmares, read him stories when he’d been too frightened to sleep, and had given him anything and everything his childish heart desired. Their childhood had been far from perfect, but without Dean’s love and protection, Sam doubted he would have survived it. In fact, the idea of never having that pure unselfish love made Sam sick to his stomach.

If not for Dean, who would he have become?

Perhaps a hard, cold man, far too much like his father. A warrior bent on a vengeance that would change nothing. That night on that bridge in Jericho when he’d told Dean how he felt still held true. No matter what happened nothing would bring their mother back. If not for Dean and a handful of worn photos he wouldn’t even know his mother, but he did know Dean. In his brother’s eyes, he knew his mother as well. Despite Dean’s best attempts to hide it, he possessed a heart bigger than anyone Sam had ever known.

Sam drew from his restless slumber as Dean shifted in his arms, mumbling, muscles twitching beneath Sam's hands. "Hush…" Sam waited as Dean stilled once more. "I promise I’ll protect you. It’s my turn now."

As the last of daylight fell away, Sam let himself fall away as well. His last thoughts a simple prayer to a God he wasn’t even sure existed.

Let me save him. Just this once let me save him.


	9. Chapter 9

The faint ring tone of the cell across the room drew Sam from the best sleep he’d had in months. Eyes drifting open he blinked against the darkness, warmth of Dean’s body pressed close to him. He shifted against the pillow and glanced at the digital clock at the bedside…three am. Who in the hell could be calling him in the middle of the night other than maybe their dad?

Disentangling from Dean careful not to awaken his brother, he slid from the bed to pad across the room and retrieve the phone. As he found the phone in his suit jacket, the ringing stopped. Maybe it’d been a wrong number. It happened sometimes.

Sam brought the phone close to his face and checked his voice mail, one message. The number attached to the call was one he didn’t recognize, but it had a local area code. Glancing back at Dean where he laid curled in a tight ball he made his way to the bathroom and shut the door. It could be only one person and this was a call he’d been expecting since their visit to the Hannibal Courier. Flipping down the toilet seat, he sat and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes as he listened to the message. He was not looking forward to this at all.

"Sam, it’s Eric Culver. Yeah, like how many Eric Culvers do you fucking know."

There was a pause and Eric sounded like he might be drunk. A one-night stand drunk dialing him in the middle of the night to confess his eternal love for his oral skills…Just what he didn’t need. He scrubbed his face harder with his hand, praying he was wrong.

"Look, Sam I’m sorry about this afternoon. It’s just the shock of seeing you, discovering you were an FBI agent, and then having all my memories…well thinking about Mel was harder than hell. It never gets easier…you know…when you lose someone you love."

Sam’s throat tightened. God he knew better than anyone what that felt like. Almost a year and he still felt the loss of Jess like a lead weight hanging around his neck. He felt like he was drowning without the benefit of water, if that were even possible. Dean had given up trying to get him to talk about it after three months into it.

"I know it’s late and I should have waited until morning, but I remembered something."

His ears perked up, memories of Jess pushed back for the moment.

"Mel told me there was a guy back in St. Louis at the university who scared her. His name….shit let me think here. His name was Brandon…Brandon Chan. She was scared to death of him. He sort of latched on to her during her first year. She went out with him a couple of times, but then he started getting possessive and shit so she cut him loose. I’m sorry I can’t be of much use other than that. She didn’t tell me much…just kind of mentioned him one night when she called me at the paper. Something about how crazy some guys could be. Do you think he…I mean could it have been him?"

Leaning back against the toilet tank Sam rubbed the knot starting to form between his eyes. The only time he had a headache set in this quick was usually when he had visions, but he hadn’t experienced anything since Saginaw.

"I guess…I’ll hang up now. Sam? Give me a call, okay?"

The message ended and Sam dropped his hand to his lap, phone held loose in his fingers. He couldn’t encourage Eric in any way that much he knew and the man had sounded like a lovesick puppy. He’d just started getting Dean to open up and he’d confessed his true feelings to his brother despite being scared out of his mind. His eyes grew heavy as he recalled the taste of Dean’s lips, his shower warm skin, and the way he’d looked at him with those liquid eyes…Emotion shining brighter than the sun in their depths despite his attempts to hide them.

Jesus, his life was one big fucked up mess.

Dean had always been the protector, the guardian angel on his little brother’s shoulder, and to have him bare his soul like that was almost too much. Seeing Dean so broken, insecure, and terrified scared the shit out of Sam like no monster, ghoul, or spirit ever had. He loved his brother so damn much and he wanted to fix it all, but he wasn’t sure he could.

Standing on coltish legs, he sat the phone on the vanity and turned on the sink splashing cold water over his face in attempt to wash away the guilt he had for using Eric. He wasn’t like that, he wasn’t a person who used others, and if he were honest with himself that’s exactly what he’d done. When he’d been kneeling on the cold tile floor it wasn’t Eric standing above him, not in his mind, it was Dean. It had been Dean all along and it made him sick to his stomach to think he’d done what he had.

With a shaking hand, he shut off the water, and nearly wrenched the knob off in the process. Leaning there in the quiet palms flat against the fake marble of the sink, he lifted his head and met his reflections’ gaze in the mirror. On the outside, he was still Sam Winchester, but inside he was a scared little boy. Scared of what he was becoming and far more scared he wouldn’t be able to save Dean from himself. His own eyes stared back from the mirror filled with all the self-doubt and fear he felt and suddenly he was angry…Angry about everything.

Angry that he hadn’t been able to spare Dean the pain he’d suffered through.

About his father being such a cold-hearted bastard when they’d been younger.

And more than anything about this life, the one he’d despised for so damn long, being all he had left now.

His fist slammed into the mirror, glass shattering beneath the onslaught of his anger and frustration. Dropping his fist, tiny beads of blood welled along his knuckles as he stared into the splintered mirror, slivers of a reflection that seemed out of sync with the real world, and knew this was his true reflection. Whom he believed Sam Winchester was no longer existed. All that remained was a scared young man whose existence kept cracking until there remained nothing more than a shattered reflection.

 

***

 

"There something you want to talk about?"

Sam glanced up from the laptop, where he was going through student records, as Dean stepped out of the bathroom. Curls of steam trailed off Dean’s skin as he studied Sam and adjusted the towel low on his hips. Sam tore his gaze from Dean’s eyes and followed the trail of one water droplet as it trailed down along his temple, the curve of his jaw, and dropped from his chin. He licked his lips gave Dean a quick glance before he turned back to the glow of the laptop’s screen.

"No."

"No?" 

He could hear the disbelief in Dean’s voice. "No, not that I can think of." he focused harder on the list of names he was skimming.

Behind him, Dean began moving around the room, tucking his shaving kit away, and pulling clothes from his duffel bag, "That so?"

"Yeah," he reached for his coffee cup and took a swallow, bittersweet heat causing his tongue to tingle.

Dean grunted as he zipped up the duffel and tossed it in the corner. "I kind of figured you might want to explain about the broken mirror in the bathroom, but hey…"

Sighing Sam turned to explain only to see Dean sliding jeans up over the bare curve of his ass. He coughed as he turned away, whole body thrumming from that one glimpse of naked skin. "I…"

"You what?"

"I had a moment." He replied throat tight as little Sam decided to make his presence known. "Can we just leave it at that?"

"A moment?"

Dean’s voice was a deep purr in his ear and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t even heard Dean walk up behind him, but there he was, all warm skin, soft cotton, and raw sexual heat…Purring in his goddamn ear.

Shifting in the chair, Sam focused on Dean, and before he could stop, he lifted his hands to cup his face. The kiss he offered him filled with everything he was feeling. He could hear Dean gasp, feel the warm, mint taste of his breath in his mouth and all he wanted was to bury himself inside Dean. He wanted to feel every inch of Dean from the inside out and his face heated with the image of his brother, naked and spread open for him like the last feast of a dying man. The intensity of that need terrified him as he pulled away and he ducked his head, shaggy hair hiding his eyes, but not the flush heating his cheeks.

Dean stared at him, tongue darting out to lick across his lips in the aggravating way he had. Sam wasn’t even sure Dean knew he was doing it, but God he wanted him to stop it. How in the hell was he supposed to think much less research when all he could think of was those perfect, full, God save me from sin lips.

"That was interesting."

Glancing up through his lashes Sam could feel his face warm even more. "It was a kiss."

"I know." Dean chuckled, "A very nice one, too. So…"

"So what?" he focused on the laptop’s screen again.

"Broken mirror?"

Sam shook his head as Dean knelt on the carpet. "I’d rather not…"

"Is this about Jess?"

He released a breath, palms slick with sweat. This was the first time Dean had mentioned her name since upstate New York and the way he said it made Sam’s chest tighten. It didn’t matter how much he didn’t want to talk about it, he knew if he expected Dean to open up, then he’d have too as well. 

"Some of it." he whispered his fingers glided over the mouse pad. "It’s…well everything."

Reaching up Dean cupped his chin and urged him to turn away from the computer. "Sammy…it’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay."

Sam swallowed hard, tears shining in his eyes. "Dean…I can’t…I want…"

"What?" Dean searched his face. "Talk to me, Sam."

He sucked in a ragged breath. "I just found you again…I can’t lose you."

Dean’s eyes shone with something Sam couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was love or even compassion, but he was so messed up he couldn’t be sure. "You don’t have to be worried. I’m here and I promise…"

"I’m sorry." The words popped out of their own accord and Sam couldn’t have stopped them if he’d wanted too.

"For what, Sam?"

He swallowed hard, trying to work some moisture up in his suddenly dry mouth, "For not saving you. For almost letting you die. For not understanding what you wanted in Chicago. I’m sorry for everything, Dean. I don’t have enough time or enough words…" the tears welled over his lashes, "Sorry for him."  
Dean raised one brow, "Who?"

"I’m sorry about Eric. Sorry I ever did what I did. All I wanted was it to be you…Always you, Dean. Even when I was with Jess and I loved her, but it wasn’t enough." He pleaded voice cracking and he felt as if the world was flipping upside down and inside out.

Without even realizing it, Sam found himself in Dean’s arms, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He should be comforting Dean not the other way around, but he couldn’t even manage to get enough air in his lungs to protest as Dean’s hand, slid beneath his tee shirt and made small soothing circles along his spine. He felt as if he was five years old again, sitting in Dean’s lap as he tried to sooth away his nightmares.

"It’ll be okay, Sammy." Dean breathed in his ear. "I’m here."

He buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and tried to block out the pain consuming him, the pain of fighting what he couldn’t fight. His lips found the pulse point behind Dean’s ear and sucked on the skin, still damp from the shower. A soft groan vibrated through Dean as Sam smiled and sniffed the tears back, rubbing his face against the worn black cotton of Dean’s tee shirt.

"Jesus, Sam…" Dean pulled back, one hand reaching out to cup Sam’s jaw, thumb swiping at the tear trails on his flushed cheek, "You’d better not have rubbed your snot on my tee shirt." Dean cracked a smile as Sam’s eyes went wide and slapped his arm. "Hey, I’m just saying, dude."

"Fuck you, Dean." Sam snorted.

"Maybe." he winked and stood leaving Sam with his mouth hanging open. "Sammy, better shut that before you swallow a bug." He chuckled as Sam’s jaw snapped shut.

"Asshole," Sam muttered.

Dean dropped to the bed and reached for his boots. "Yeah, but you still love me, man."

 

***

 

The rest of the morning, they spent in silent research and the occasional secretive glance at one another. Sam remembered giving shit to Dean when they’d been in Cape Girardeau about how he and Cassie never quite looked at each other at the same time. He almost laughed when he realized he and Dean were doing the same damn thing. He reached for his coffee cup and glanced over at Dean who had stretched out like a lazy green-eyed cat on his belly, flipping through sheets of information Sam had given him. His tee shirt road up his back and gave Sam a glimpse of the fair smooth skin of Dean’s back or more specifically the soft hollow above the curve of his denim-clad ass. With a grin, Sam lifted his cup and choked when Dean rolled off the bed with a yelp.

"What?" Sam’s eyes were wide as half-dollars.

"Found him." Dean grinned like the Cheshire cat on crack as he moved across the room. "Brandon Michael Chan, age 23, Student ID number 628-3535-0072. Our Brandon hails from San Jose, Cali."

Sam turned back to the laptop pulling up the window he needed. "Repeat that ID number."

"628-3535-0072."

His fingers flew over the keyboard and he grinned as a file popped up. "Here we go…" he scanned the file, "Pre-Med…phenomenal LSAT score…" he paused eyes narrowing. "This can’t be right."

Dean leaned over his shoulder, peering at the screen. "What?"

"There’s a notation here. Brandon is taking a leave of absence…it says his wife was reported missing and he chose to take time off."

"Yeah, so?" Dean pulled the other chair around.

"His wife is listed as Melanie Jenkins."

"So, did Eric lie about what she said?"

"Maybe," Sam chewed his lip. "Or maybe Brandon and Melanie weren’t married. After all none of the newspaper accounts said anything about her having a husband."

Dean leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "Guess we need to talk to Melanie’s family. If she was married I’m sure her parents would know, right?"

"Yeah, maybe, but I think we need to do some poking around first." Sam saved the file, shut the laptop, and then stood to cross the room grabbing his jacket.

"Whoa there Silver, where are we going?" Dean stood.

Sam offered a strained smile. "You get your wish after all, Dean."

"Wish?"

"We’re going to the lighthouse."

 

***

 

As they pulled into the parking lot, Sam glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye. He could see that tightness around his brother’s eyes that he only got when he was worried. Of course, Dean never admitted he was worried unless his defenses were down, usually when he was hurt or exhausted. His gaze drifted down to where Dean’s fingers were tapping along with the Aerosmith song playing in the background, his brow crinkled in deep thought.

"You okay?" Sam questioned.

Dean sighed. "I’m fine, Sammy…it’s just…"

"What?"

"I can feel her already." Dean’s voice was soft, eyes unfocused as he turned toward Sam. "She didn’t die here…not in the parking lot." His gaze drifted to where the stairs led up to the lighthouse on the steep bluff. "She trusted him…you know?"

A shiver traveled through Sam as he watched Dean, "Who?"

Dean pushed open the door and slipped from the car without a word. Reaching over Sam shut off the engine, radio dying on a high note, and scrambled from the car keys clenched tight in his fist. Dean was already a quarter of the way up the stairs and Sam cursed his stupidity for allowing Dean to come back here. This bitch was possessing Dean somehow, but it wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. Maybe that was what had happened yesterday when Dean had the seizure, maybe she’d possessed him, and then squatted in his brother’s brain until it suited her to come out.

Running across the parking lot, long strides eating up the distance between him and Dean’s retreating form he called out. "Dean!" He wasn’t sure what he thought that would accomplish, but he had to try something to halt his brother’s retreat.

Halfway up the stairs Dean paused and turned, "Yeah, Sam?"

Sam reached him, panting, and out of breath. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine." Dean shook his head and started back up the stairs.

"You’re not acting fine."

"Trust me, dude, I’m fine. For a psychic wonder you sure don’t notice much." Snorting Dean picked up his pace.

"What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" He frowned as he searched the area around them, but it was only them and the wind stirring tangled tree branches.

Dean paused again and turned to look at Sam with the same unfocused gaze he’d had in the car moments before. "You’re telling me that you can’t see her?" He lifted one arm and pointed up the stairs.

"Who?" Sam frowned.

"Melanie. She wants to show me where it happened."

With those words, he started climbing again and Sam swallowed hard. Dean had never shown any sign of psychic abilities, but it was apparent he was following something, eyes focused, and yet there was strangeness in their depths, in his expression Sam had never seen before. Except in Connecticut, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.  
Sam clenched his teeth and rubbed his temple. Where that had come from, he wondered, as he trotted after Dean. He never had remembered much about what had happened in that well, far beneath the earth. Six months and all he’d had was the occasional nightmare about finding Dean, dead, skin cool to the touch, and his eyes empty of life. Shaking his head, Sam tried to clear that particular image from his mind and his gut clenched tight with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Since Jess had died, he’d had the fear, but since the Rawhead in Arkansas and then Nebraska, the fear had become far more real. That wasn’t how it had happened though, he’d found Dean alive.

"Hurry up slow poke!" Dean yelled from the top of the stairs.

Heading back up the stairs, Sam hit the top faster than he thought possible and Dean smiled at him. "Dean, are you sure…" he started.

"Did you bring your pick kit?"

He frowned. "What? No. Why?"

Dean shook his head as he trudged across the open space and to the stairs that led to the door of the lighthouse. "Got to get this lock off or you’re going to have to go back down and get the kit." Mounting the stairs Dean took them quick and then knelt in front of the door. He cocked his head to the side as if he were listening to a voice only he could hear and then he turned back to Sam. "Dude, you can do this right?"

"With what?" Sam snorted. "I already told you…"

Suddenly the world swam and Sam slammed to his knees. He opened his mouth tried to call out to Dean who was looking at him with a curious expression, but he couldn’t. Bright smears of color swirled at the edges of his vision and a feminine voice whispered in his ear.

You can do this.

Sam gasped, fingers clawing at his temples. "Get…out…of…"

No, I won’t….

His body began to tremble as he ground his teeth, eyes clenched shut against the swirling brightness. "Get…out…now." He hissed.

You’ve been touched…you have the ability…

"I said…get the fuck…out of my body!" Sam screamed as he pushed out with every ounce of strength he had.

Open the door…

"No!" Sam screamed as he fought for control of his body.

Open the door…

Throwing his head back, tendons and muscles taunt in the long line of his throat, Sam screamed, again. "No!"

Behind Dean, the lock exploded and he ducked as shards of metal shot through the air, the chain tumbling to the concrete. Lifting his head he saw Sam collapse in a limp heap on the ground, he was suddenly on his feet, and down the stairs. On his knees, he pulled Sam into his arms, panic swelling in the pit of his stomach.

Eyes filled with fury he looked up into Melanie Jenkins’ face and growled. "What the fuck did you do to my brother?"

Nothing

"Bull fucking shit!" his gaze lowered to Sam’s sweat-slicked face as he searched for a pulse. "Sam…Sammy, come on, dude. Open your eyes. If you killed him I swear to god I will hunt your ethereal ass down and blow you into the next life!"

Sam coughed and Dean released a breath he’d had no idea he was holding. "Sammy, man, you okay?"

Eyes fluttering open, Sam grinned, eyes unfocused. "She’s one pissed off bitch." He croaked.

"Jesus." Dean moaned, yanking Sam close, and hanging on for dear life, shoulders shaking.

"Dean…man…I can’t breathe."

Loosening his grip, Dean pulled back. "You really okay?" His voice was tight, emotion barely restrained.

"Other than a major headache and maybe a few Dean shaped bruises…yeah." Sam chuckled, and then winced as his brain decided to implode. "Fuck that hurt."

"What did the bitch do to you?" Dean hissed.

Sam shook his head. "Let’s say she doesn’t take no for an answer when she wants something." He let out a ragged cough, running his fingers through his hair, shaking leaves and the twigs from it.

Dean glanced at the door and then turned back to Sam. "That was you?"

"In a manner of speaking," Sam snorted as Dean helped him to his feet, his legs wobbling like a newborn colt. "She sort of took control and used my…" he waved his hand as if it explained the exploding lock.

"Dude, that was awesome," shock flickered through Dean’s eyes as he grinned.

"Well, glad to know you enjoyed the show asshole." Sam frowned as he rubbed the knot of pain between his eyes. "Of course, she could have just asked."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Since when do spirits ask? She’s been haunting my ass since we got here and I still don’t understand why."

"Dean."

He looked away from Sam’s steady gaze, trying to block out the warning tone in his voice. "Sam, let’s take care of whatever she wants, okay?" Dusting off his jeans, he took the steps two at a time and turned back to see Sam studying him with the look he hated. He’d seen that look in Sam’s eyes when he’d woken in the hospital six months ago. "What?"

"Nothing," Sam shook his head, "Nothing at all." Climbing the stairs, Sam pushed open the door, and musty air hit him making his eyes water. Well at least that’s what he told himself as he stepped into the dim interior. "Come on, Dean. Let’s find out what was so damn important Melanie tried to turn my brain inside out."


	10. Chapter 10

Interior colder than Sam imagined the thick concrete walls blocked out the autumn sun and the heat beneath it on the cliff. His nose twitched as he inhaled the air thick with age and dust. Why the hell this spirit had wanted Dean to come here he couldn’t imagine? Perhaps, there was somewhere inside these walls the clue they needed to put her to rest and discover the truth of her death.

"Is she still here?" his voice echoed off the walls, pinging along the spiral iron staircase rising into the shadows.

Dean lifted his head to follow Melanie’s movements, swift and smooth as the current of the river beyond the lighthouse walls. "Yeah, she is…" he mused as Melanie stopped at the top of the stairs, eyes focused on him, "Come on." Without waiting for an answer, he headed up the stairs, two at a time, footsteps hollow against the cold metal.

Frankly, Sam didn’t like this. In fact, he was seconds from grabbing Dean, heading for the car, and high tailing it out of this damn town. To hell with Melanie Jenkins and whatever she wanted. Dean vanished into the shadows and Sam sighed heading up the stairwell wishing to God he could end this game of hide and seek with a spirit who only allowed his brother to see her. That in and of itself worried Sam because he was the psychic wonder-boy as Dean often teased him about, not Dean, never Dean.

At the top of the stairs, Sam paused blinded after the darkness downstairs by the light seeping through dirt-encrusted windows. "Dean?"

"Over here, dude," Dean replied voice muffled.

Sam made his way around the huge light eyeballing it as if the spirits of every person lost on the river would explode from it. "Where the hell are you, man?"

 

He raised an eyebrow stepping around the corner to see an open door. His nose twitched and an explosive sneeze escaped him as he followed a short set of steps into what appeared to be a storage closet or control room. Dean was kneeling on the floor head ducked, and one arm stretched out beneath one of the storage shelves. He let out a curse and stretched out further, straining to reach something Sam couldn’t see.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked as Dean glanced up from his impromptu treasure hunt.

"Get down here and put those orangutan arms to good use. I can’t seem to reach it and Melanie is not a happy spook right now." Dean glanced at a spot somewhere over Sam’s shoulder and growled. "Yeah…yeah…I know."

Sam looked over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see a fucking thing. "Look, Melanie, the least you can do after invading my body is let me see you." He snorted. "That is if you expect me to get on my hands and knees."

"Sam…" Dean warned his voice low.

"No, Dean. I’m finished playing games. She wants my help she needs to…"

Before he could finish the scent of lilac filled the air, sweet and light, and the air began to shimmer. Melanie had made her decision her vibrant blue eyes focused on Sam’s shocked face. Inside his head, he could hear her soft, insistent voice.

Help me…help Dean…

Sam stepped backwards and lowered on to the floor. "What is it, Dean?"

"Not sure, but it’s there." Dean waved one hand toward the dark space beneath the shelves. "She wanted me to find it."

Lowering onto his belly, one eye still on Melanie’s shimmering form, Sam reached beneath the shelving. "It’d better not be something gross and I swear to God if a rat bites me I’m exorcising your annoying ass." He flashed Melanie a pointed look as his hand moved through the thick dust, long fingers searching.

Dean snorted. "Dude, I don’t think an exorcism would work on her."

Suddenly Sam’s eyes widened. "Got it!" he yelped, fingers closing over something delicate and cool, a chain, he thought, as he pulled his arm from beneath the shelving, cobwebs and dust bunnies clinging to the sleeve of his hoodie.

Sitting up with a cough, he lifted clenched fingers, and turned to Dean. Dean leaned close as Sam opened his fist and raised an eyebrow as he focused on the object in the palm of his brother’s hand…A necklace.

Dean reached out hand shaking as his fingers lifted the tarnished gold chain, holding it up in the late afternoon light. The light caught and sparked off the chain in tiny winking splashes of gold as it spun from his fingertips. On the chain was a pendant, a jade circle, faded milky green stone stained with rusty black.

An audible sigh filled the room.

Both the boys looked up to see Melanie begin to fade away, her words a whisper in the silence of the room.

Yes…

 

***

 

Sam sat staring at the necklace, thin gold chain broken, and swirling across the top of the table as if a golden serpent from an ancient legend. He sighed and tipped the chair back on two legs as Dean walked up behind him, arms draped around his neck, and chin resting on his shoulder.

"I don’t get it."

"What?" Dean questioned, nose nuzzled against the skin beneath Sam’s ear.

Sam reached up long fingers playing along Dean’s forearms, caressing the downy soft hair, and counting the freckles spattered across sun kissed skin. "It’s a necklace, but how does that help us?"

He rested his forehead on Sam’s shoulder with a groan. "She was wearing it when she died." He explained. "Sometimes it’s not only the bones that hold a spirit here and you damn well know that, Sammy."

"Jacob." Sam nodded thinking of the vengeful preacher in Iowa, the Hookman of legend, destroyed at last after they melted all the silver that had once been his hook.

"Bingo." Dean chuckled, his lips pressing a gentle kiss in the spot he’d been nuzzling earlier. "See you still have the college boy brain, so use it."

Frowning Sam tilted the chair back down on all four legs. "This thing looks familiar." He mumbled as Dean pulled away, giving his head a gentle pat.

"It should…remember China." Stepping around Dean flopped in the chair across the table.

Sam busted out laughing. "Ming Lei hated it when you called her that. How many times did she tell Pastor Jim on you? And how many times did Dad box your ears for being disrespectful to her that summer."

Lifting his hands in surrender, Dean flashed a smirk at Sam. "Hey, she reminded me of a china doll, all delicate and frail, with long black hair falling down her back." He focused on the ceiling as he rocked the chair back, thighs flexing beneath the worn denim of his jeans. "She wasn’t complaining much though when we…" his voice trailed off as the smirk turned into a smile.

"Oh, my God!" his eyes went huge. "You did not!"

The chair hit the floor and his smile was so wide his teeth blinded Sam.

"Jesus, Dean, she was what…twenty? And you were…"

"A very happy fifteen-year-old hormonal boy," Dean snickered as color flared in Sam’s cheeks his head ducking. "By the way, dude, she tasted like peaches."

"Dean!"

"I’m just saying, dude."

Shaking his head, Sam snorted in disgust "Way too much information, man."

"Any who…" Dean rolled his eyes, "China had a necklace almost identical to this one except the chain was silver. It’s supposed to bring good fortune or some shit."

Sam tried to scrub the image of teenage Dean and Ming Lei, Pastor Jim’s exotic next-door neighbor from his brain. Ming had fueled a few of his own teenage shower moments although he’d never admit it to Dean. "Good fortune…Huh?"

"Yep, good fortune not that it helped her. So, what’re you thinking? Maybe Melanie’s supposed husband gave it to her?" Dean studied his nails. "Or maybe someone else gave it to her."

"What? Eric?" Sam’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his tangled bangs. "If he did…do you think maybe he lied about their relationship?"

Dean glanced up at Sam with a frown. "Could be or maybe this Brandon Chan did give it to her. Maybe old Eric couldn’t take the competition and he killed her."

"Eric a killer and rapist?” he shook his head. “Don’t you think the cops went down that avenue? Besides, Eric really cared about her…"

Pushing back the chair with a growl Dean began pacing.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Oh, I don’t know." Dean snorted. "Does the idea of lover boy being a killer piss you off, Sammy?"

"That’s not fair, Dean!" Sam snapped. "I apologized about that…it was nothing!"

Dean spun on Sam, "That so?"

Sam stepped into Dean’s personal space, glaring down at him. "Yeah, that’s so." He hissed. "I fucked up, okay? I should have told you how I felt before now, but I don’t know…brothers!" His face flushed with anger as Dean glared at him.

"As if that ever stopped you from doing anything!" growling Dean stepped closer until they were practically touching noses. "Jesus, is it so inconceivable Mr. Eric could have a jealous bone in his body? Who told you about Brandon?"

"What?" Sam blinked at Dean, flipped by the sudden change in subject.

Dean snarled, eyes flashing. "You heard me! Who told you about Brandon?"

"What does it matter?" Crossing his arms over his chest Sam frowned.

"I listened to the message, Sam." Dean searched Sam’s face. "Why didn’t you tell me that’s who called last night?"

Sam’s jaw dropped in shock. "You were awake?"

Spinning on his heels Dean marched dropped on the mattress, arms hugging his torso. "Yeah, I was awake, dude. So why didn’t you tell me Eric Culver was the one?" He refused to meet Sam’s eyes, staring at the wall instead wishing he’d never brought up the subject. He flinched when Sam dropped next to him, hugging himself tighter.

"Because..."

Dean redirected his focus on Sam’s hands fingers twisting in his lap. "Because, why?"

He reached out to grasp Dean’s chin and forced him to look up. "Because, I knew you would do this." He whispered. "What do I have to do to prove that I want you, Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean grumbled, eyes lowering.

"Dean…" this time his brother’s name was nothing, but a whisper. That whisper though held promises. "Look at me, Dean."

He lifted his head and met Sam’s steady gaze. What he saw caused the breath to catch in his throat and his heart to pound hard. So hard, he thought it might explode from the strain and effort. Dean had never loved anyone outside of his brother other than Cassie and it had ended badly. At least with Sam there was an understanding, a connection he could’ve never had with her. Sam understood what it was like on the outside, a stranger in a strange world, because normal and safe were concepts unrelatable to Dean. He’d been far too young when their mother had died to have any clear memories. There were snapshots, faded and worn, and sometimes sensory images that haunted the edge of his memories.

There was the scent of his mother’s perfume, sweet and light, surrounding him.

Or the feeling of safety and warmth that often held that scent.

Perhaps the fear in his eyes was why Sam asked this time, expression far gentler than any lover Dean had ever had. "Can I kiss you?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded dumbfounded by the question, his body already aching with a need he’d never realized he possessed. He’d been so scared for so long. Scared to be touched and afraid the sickness infesting him would rub off on Sam via osmosis. He was dirty, flawed, and Sam…well, Sam was beautiful. His lower lip began to quiver and he damned it to hell. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector, and he wasn’t supposed to need this so bad the ache resonated through his bones.

Leaning in Sam cupped Dean’s face in large warm hands and his lips ghosted over Dean’s with the touch of gossamer wings on a night-flying moth. He felt his breath escape and he closed his eyes tight trying to force back tears that threatened to burst in a flood of regret and pain. Sam drew back and he opened his eyes slow seeing a gentle smile tug at the corner of his brother’s lips, one hesitant dimple flashing.

"I want to touch you, Dean." His voice deepened to a honey thick plea. "I want to show you what you mean to me."

"Sam…I…"

Sam’s fingers pressed against his lips and he choked back a sob. "You’re not dirty. You’re perfect…so fucking beautiful, man." He sighed head dipping in a nod as Sam fisted the tail of his faded gray tee shirt. "Can I see you? Is that okay?"

Another animalistic whimper rose from his gut at the way Sam looked at him. It’d been so long since anyone had looked at him like that. He lifted his arms and Sam lifted his tee shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the floor. His gaze met Dean’s again as he guided him back on the bed as if he were glass and to be truthful Dean felt as if he were breakable. For months, he fought for balance on the razor’s edge between despair and want. He wanted it all to go away…the pain, darkness, and need to bury it all beneath an endless parade of strangers. Just once, he wanted to feel something other than this anguished flame licking along his skin threatening to consume him.

Sam smiled eyes shining as he stripped off his own tee shirt adding it to the one already entangled on the carpeted floor. He reached for first one foot and then the other, tugging off Dean’s boots and socks, and added them to the growing pile. Soon his sneakers and socks joined the pile. He crept up the bed to lie next to Dean, head propped on one palm, elbow digging into the comforter, and smile brighter than before.

"Is this okay?"

Nodding Dean swallowed as Sam reached out, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of clavicle beneath freckled skin. His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he lost himself in the gentle touch. He needed this, he needed Sam, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of one good reason why he’d tried to drown in faceless strangers. Licking his lips, he opened his eyes and there it was—the answer—as clear as spring water in hazel eyes. Sam’s fingers trailed down and then his palm spread out over Dean’s heart.

"I won’t hurt you."

His fingers tickled as he drew them up again and one fingertip circled a dusky nipple, lazy scrawl of flesh on flesh. Dean gasped, lower lip caught between his teeth until it flushed with blood.

"More?" Sam cocked his head, asking permission with far more than that single word.

"Yes." Dean whispered.

Leaning in Sam claimed his lips once more. This time though the kiss was more insistent as the tip of his teased along Dean’s lower lip asking permission. Dean sighed, lips parting and Sam’s tongue found its way inside, sweeping in gentle movements over teeth, and along the roof of his mouth. A moan filled the space between them although Dean couldn’t be sure whether came from him or Sam.

Sam pulled back catching Dean’s lower lip between his teeth, nipping and then soothing with his tongue until Dean thought he might go crazy. He could feel Sam shift, one leg thrown carelessly over his hips. His hands on either side of Dean, pressed into the mattress, held him above Dean as he surged up seeking contact with a desperate whimper. Releasing his lip, Sam pulled further back eyes opening as Dean looked up at him flush of want clear in his face.

"Jesus…" Sam swore, “I want you so much Dean. Always have. No one else could ever take the place of you."

"How can you?" He whispered, pain and doubt evident in his expression. "After all the things I’ve done…after what you saw. How could you want me?"

Sam braced himself on one hand, other lifting so his thumb could trace through the tear tracks he was sure Dean was unaware existed. Dean didn’t cry or at least he didn’t cry in front of others and the sheen of moisture against his skin made Sam’s heart ache. "None of that matters. I love you, Dean and nothing could ever change that…nothing."

Dean laughed even though the laughter never quite reached his eyes. "You’re such a girl, Sammy."

Laughing, Sam leaned in again, kissing Dean deeper, almost bruising. Dean was who he was and the sense of humor might frowned on by others was a big part of him Sam loved. In their world, there were so few reasons to laugh, few moments of joy, but Dean always made him laugh. Growing up he’d never forgotten a birthday or a Christmas. They never had much, but they had one another and for so long it seemed enough.

He pulled back taste of Dean on his lips. "Maybe, Dean…" he whispered, "of course you might be jealous of the size of my dick." He thrust his hips down and Dean groaned, eyes rolling back in his head.

"God…"

"Nope, Sam," He grinned.

Focusing on Sam’s flushed face, he sighed. "Want to put that claim to the test?" This time the smile flitted at the edge of his eyes, tiny creases around the corners signs of a life that had aged him beyond his twenty-seven years.

"Anytime, man…anytime." Amusement shone in Sam’s dark eyes, flecks of gold growing as his pupils blew out, wide with need.

Dean reached for Sam’s fly, popping the button at his waist, and then lowered the zipper over the heavy heat hidden beneath. His hands trembled as he fought the urge to stop, to fight, and run. He was tired of running though. For once in his life Dean wanted peace and he was beginning to believe after all his searching he’d found what he’d wanted and it had been right in front of him all along. With desperate hands, he pushed aside denim and cotton, working it down over Sam’s narrow hips, and his brother hissed as his erection slipped free.

"Dean…" he groaned as Dean wrapped his hand around him.

"Sammy."

A pleased noise slipped from Sam as he heard the wonder in that one simple word. He’d always fought with Dean over his simple name of affection, but it wasn’t for the reasons he’d always claimed. It was because when Dean called him Sammy the ache of desire had rose in the pit of his stomach, radiated out as if the warm invisible rays of the sun, caressing his heart and soul.

Dean had wanted this for so long. When Sam left for Stanford a part of him imagined Sam had known. That his brother, disgusted by this ‘unnatural’ need, had fled to college to free himself from Dean. Little had he known Sam ran not because of his need, but rather his own.

Squeezing the hardness in his palm, he smiled at Sam’s grunt. "You’re so…" Dean glanced up, thumb sliding across the tip of Sam’s cock, "so perfect and beautiful."

Sam gasped, one hand fumbling for Dean’s fly as he tried to push back the need cresting inside him, a wave of desire so powerful he feared he might shatter.   
"Need to feel you." He whimpered in frustration. "Please, Dean."

Releasing his grip on Sam, he reached down fumbling open his own fly and shoving his jeans down over his hips. His cock sprang free, swollen and needy, head glistening with pre-cum and he groaned. "Go ahead…Do it…please." He whispered eyes never leaving Sam’s as his brother lowered himself down.

The first touch of skin on skin sent an electric shock through them both, heads thrown back, and air exploding from lungs. They fit so perfectly together, face to face, their chests sliding together, and cocks finding one another without benefit of hands. Sam’s lips crushed Dean’s and it was right, so fucking right, they both wondered why they’d waited. Tongues tangling they moved against one another and as on the hunt neither had to speak, they knew what was right, what worked. Their cocks slid against one another, pulsing heat, slick with spilled fluids that eased the friction and at the same time increased the heat. Hardness to hardness they gasped and moaned into one another’s mouths, begging for more with nothing but their bodies.

Dean was the first to pull away, tasting his brother deep inside and along his tongue. "Sam…God…yes…"

"Dean." Sam moaned, mouth finding the pulse point beneath Dean’s ear, suckling the warm skin, drawing a whimper with teeth and tongue. "Taste so fucking sweet." He mumbled sucking harder.

Hips grinding together harder, their bellies damp with pre-cum, Dean reached around palming Sam’s bare ass, drawing him closer. Sam groaned as the friction increased and Dean humped up beneath him. "So close, Sammy…so close." He gritted out between clenched teeth as Sam drifted lower, hips moving faster.

This was what they’d both wanted. They both needed the other, but there remained doubts buried within Dean. He felt blessed having his brother here with him and he wanted so much more, but the doubts crept in like shadows at the corners of his vision, so he shut his eyes. He closed them out as he’d closed everything else out that tore his soul to the quick. Dean fell into the sensations around him and it felt as if he was flying, free of the darkness that had overtook his life when he Ingley pulled him into the rich, dark earth of Connecticut.

"Dean?"

Sam’s voice caressed his skin like shredded velvet and he couldn’t help but answer his question by opening his eyes. Eyes filled with love, lust, and want years in the making. He wanted this moment to last, but he knew it couldn’t even as his orgasm coiled in the pit of his stomach a monstrous serpent of desire.

"Come with me, Sammy."

And suddenly it hit him hard like the great beast it was. Every muscle in his body went taunt, back bowing and hips thrusting to crush against the warm body above him. He could feel Sam stiffen above him, muscles trembling, and finally they both shattered. Heads thrown back, tendons stark and raw in their necks as their worlds collided with an intensity that had them both screaming out incoherent. Hot cum exploded from their bodies across sweat-slicked bellies and chests in pearlescent strings that caught the light and glowed with every emotion they both felt.

To hell with the world and what it thought.

How dare a world in denial judge them? A world they fought to save day in and day out without as much as a polite thank you. All they had was one another and was it a sin to seek comfort and love in each other’s arms?

As they came down, panting, and exhausted they both thought the same thing.

It didn’t matter. If they needed this one thing then the world could go play hide and go fuck itself.

Slowly the haze began to lift and Dean groaned. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Who knew you were such a firecracker in bed." Dean chuckled as Sam looked down at him with a heavy lidded, satiated expression.

"Only you, Dean…Only you." he whispered, lips pressed against Dean’s as they fell into a deep slumber, legs tangled in denim and cotton.

From the corner of the room, bright eyes watched, a full mouth curved in a knowing smile. Melanie Jenkins faded into the shadows her voice a faint echo through the air-conditioned silence.

Soon my hunters.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean woke with a start, confused at first, but then he saw Sam and he couldn’t help but smile. Outside the day was ending, late autumn twilight rose tinted gold between the blinds was fading. He shifted to his side and reached out, fingers tracing the curve of Sam’s cheek down to his parted lips, warm breath teasing his fingertips. He couldn’t believe they’d been together like this, the way he’d always wanted to be but was too scared to hope.

"You okay?"

He smiled as looked up, lashes dark and soft against honey gold skin. "Yeah." a faint blush rose in his cheeks when he realized they were both laying there, jeans tangled around their thighs, and drying cum flaking from their bellies.

Smile widening Sam watched the heat rise in Dean’s cheeks. "We look like a bad porno scene…don’t we?" He chuckled, reaching out to cup his brother’s chin. When their eyes met, Sam saw so many things in his wide eyes. There was love, amazement, doubt and even fear. "It’s okay." He leaned in close, fingers trailing up along full lips and quivering jaw. "Never more than you can handle bro’…I promise."

To Sam’s shock, Dean leaned in close and pressed their lips together in a tentative kiss, and then drew back. He studied Sam’s face as if he were searching for something. "Sam?" Dean’s hand rose to push tangled hair from Sam’s eyes.

"Yeah?"

His hand dropped lower lip caught between his teeth. "Have you ever…I mean…" he glanced up for a split second, cheeks burning even brighter.

"Fucked a man?" Sam questioned, long fingers gliding through Dean’s hair. "Yeah, I have." He almost regretted his answer when he saw something akin to disappointment shining in Dean's eyes. "But…I’ve never been fucked by a man."

That last bit caused Dean to glance up, brows drawing together, "Never?"

Sam shook his head. "I had plans…even if they never came true."

"Plans?"

"Would you believe I was saving myself?"

"Me?"

Sam nodded, "I told you I always wanted you, Dean. And when I said always, I meant always." He leaned in, hand curling around Dean’s neck, fingers tickling the short hair at the base of his skull. "Always you," Tilting his head he drew Dean closer and kissed him gentle at first and then more demanding, teeth nipping at his lower lip. He breathed out as Dean’s lips parted inviting him in with a quick dart of his tongue.

Dean sighed, as Sam’s tongue darted between his lips, curling into a gentle dance with his own.

This time Sam let him lead and Dean rolled them over so he was straddling Sam’s hips. He could feel the twitch of Sam’s slumbering cock against his own. He wanted this more than anything yet at the same time he was terrified. Flickering images of pain and darkness danced at the edge of his vision despite Sam’s assurances there would be only what he could handle.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam focused on Dean as he pulled away.

Dean shook his head, "Nothing…I just…nothing."

"It’s okay." Sam drew back. "I’ve waited this long and I can wait even longer. For you I would wait until the stars fell."

A soft snort escaped Dean, but his expression said thank you. "You’re such a girl, Sam."

Sam’s laughter rang out as he pushed Dean off him and rolled, sitting up. Wiggling out of his jeans and underwear, he glanced over his shoulder as he stood, giving Dean a clean smooth view of his back and ass. "I call shower first." He grinned as Dean rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, dude."

***

After they both showered and dressed, their next step decided by empty stomachs as a resounding stereo growl echoed through their room Sam burst out laughing first. He believed, for a moment, he might have done the wrong thing from the annoyed expression on Dean directed at him. Mere seconds later though the hard ass façade melted into a fit of snorting laughter that had Sam’s heart singing with joy. Not since Connecticut had Dean smiled or laughed, really laughed, like that. It meant he was breaking through the shell Dean had erected the day Sam hauled him out of that well.

Smacking Dean in the shoulder, he snorted. "I’m guessing you’re hungry, too."

"Starving," he returned the smack to the back of Sam’s head, ducking around him, Sam barely missing a handful of his tee shirt. "I could eat a fucking cow, dude." He turned and waggled his brows at Sam as he dangled the car keys from one finger. "Want to drive, Sammy?"

"Me?" Sam slapped his chest as if he were having a heart attack. "I would be honored, sir."

He affected his best British accent, which to be honest was the worst thing Dean had ever heard, but his smile widened. "Damn straight you’d better be!" Dean snapped. "My baby doesn’t purr for just anyone, but I think we might convince her to purr for you, man."

Dashing across the room Sam snatched the keys and barreled out of the motel room, Dean hot on his heels.

***

They drove into downtown Hannibal in search of somewhere they could set and have a decent meal and a couple of beers. They finally found it at Mississippi Blues, a restaurant/bar in one of the older buildings on the riverfront. It took a good twenty minutes to find a parking spot and then they headed across the cobblestone street to the front doors of the restored building that had once been a factory or a warehouse on the docks. The tall frosted glass doors were propped open and the sound of a mournful guitar solo reminiscent of B.B. King drifted out into the autumn night weaving its magic along with notes of laughter and clinking glasses.

Sam gave Dean a quick smile as they entered cheeks glowing in the golden light that flooded the dark sidewalk. This was good, far better than good. Dean had showed no desire to go out with him anywhere, even for coffee or food in so long. Giving his brother another sidelong glance, he noticed the softened lines around Dean’s eyes and the spark of fire in them as he hummed along to the music.

Whoever owned Mississippi Blues had chosen to keep it as close to the original structure as they could. The main floor wide open, aged brick walls on four sides and dark wood beams rising up in the smoky air to support the second floor, a narrow wood staircase to their left lead up to the second floor where there was more seating. The floor was the same dark wood, but finished to a mahogany shine with wood tables and chairs scattered throughout the space where men and women of all ages were eating, drinking, and laughing.

Against the far wall was a simple elevated stage of the same dark wood. Track lighting in a subdued violet shone down on a man with long white streaked hair, face weathered and intense in its concentration as slender calloused fingers danced across the strings of an electric guitar. To the left of the guitarist stood a statuesque African-American woman, hair snowy white and shorn close to her skull, violet light giving her skin an ethereal glow. The light caught on the sculpted curve of high cheekbones and intensified the sparkle of gold powder swept across lowered lids. Glossy plum painted lips parted, smoky voice swirling out across the crowd.

Dream when the day is through

Dream and they might come true

Things never are as bad as they seem

So dream, dream, dream…

Dream

So dream, dream, dream…

As her voice faded the entire room stood applauding, and Sam caught up in the excitement. Dean chuckled as a young woman approached dressed in faded jeans, dark blue apron, and matching dark blue tee shirt with a silver glitter design of swirling waters and a steamboat, swirling letters spelling out ‘Mississippi Blues’. As soon as Sam met her eyes, he recognized her, the girl from the Quik Trip the first day they’d been in Hannibal.

"Welcome to the Mississippi Blues. I’m Jinx may I get you a table?" Her short angle-cut ebony hair swung forward, highlighting her cheekbones and vibrant blue eyes.

Sam stood staring, gap mouthed. With a well-placed elbow, Dean shook him from his stupor, "Uh…yeah. Two please."

She flashed him a wide smile and motioned them to follow. "I had a table open up front near the stage is that alright?"

When Sam didn’t answer, Dean rolled his eyes and flashed her, his brightest smile. "That’ll be fine, sweetheart."

Giggling she wove through the patrons leading them to a table a few feet away from stage left and pulled out the chairs. "Have a seat, gentlemen. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Two beers," Dean answered as he took his seat giving Sam a questioning glance across the table. "Tap?"

"Sure thing, sir, I’ll be right back." She left them two menus and vanished into the crowd.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" Dean asked.

Sam picked up his menu and began perusing the pages. "Do you know who that was?"

"Our waitress?"

"That’s Jinx."

"Yeah, that’s what she said her…"

"Jinx…" Sam paused as if he expected Dean to recognize the name, “Melanie’s sister." He added when there was no reply from Dean.

Dean’s gaze flitted in the direction the young girl had vanished. "No, shit, dude?"

"What are the odds out of all the restaurants in this town the one we would pick is the exact place where Melanie Jenkins’ sister works?" Sam flipped open his menu.

"So what are you saying? You think Melanie influenced our decision to come here?" Shaking his head, Dean studied the menu in front of him. "I don’t know, Sammy. That’s a bit on the odd side even for us."

"You’re kidding me, right? That spook has been playing in your brain since we got here. Why couldn’t she have led us here somehow?"

"I don’t know…" Dean trailed off for a moment, "I guess because I don’t feel her."

Sam made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat, "Really, since when?"

Flapping his hand Dean dismissed at Sam. "You know…well…"

"What? Before the…"

"Don’t say it." Dean hissed, "But yeah…since before that."

Jinx reappeared setting two frosted mugs of beer down, one in front of each of them. "So, gentlemen have you decided?"

Dean glanced up and smiled, "Cajun jambalaya plate…extra sausage, with the mashed potatoes and sweet cornbread. What about you, Sam?"

"Dirty rice…chicken not the beef…and snap beans with the rolls. Oh…and whole wheat rolls, please." He smiled as he held out the menu.

"Sure thing, sir." she flashed Sam a flirtatious grin as she accepted the menus. "If you need anything else just wave me down. Shaniqua will be back on stage in a bit." She slipped away giving them a quick glance.

"Shaniqua?" they both questioned.

Dean tipped back his beer, taking a long pull. "Didn’t figure her for a Shaniqua, but I hope she sings some more Ella. I love that shit and she sounds almost like her."

"Ella?" Sam quirked one brow above his beer mug, "Never figured you for an Ella Fitzgerald fan."

Leaning back in his chair Dean chuckled. "You think you know everything there is to know about your big brother? Think again, Sammy."

Sam snorted. "It’s…"

"I know, dude."

***

The meal was delicious, food hot, fresh, and spicy. Sam hadn’t had food as they served here in…hell he didn’t know when. Although the food was good and the beer cold, the best part was watching Dean. Seeing his subtle smile and watching the stress around his mouth and eyes fade away with ease.

A comfortable silence descended between them, one missing for too damn long, when Shaniqua the songstress returned to the stage. She was wearing a beaded gold 1920’s flapper style dress this time, long legs looking even longer in her stiletto heels as she wandered along the stage highlighted by the violet light from above. A band had joined the mix this time dressed in black and for just a moment Sam felt as if he’d slipped through time as her voice rose into the smoky rafters.

I was a stranger in the city…

Out of town were the people I knew.

I had that feeling of self-pity…

What to do, what to do, what to do…

The outlook was decidedly blue.

As he shifted his gaze to where Dean sat, he saw the sparkle in his brother’s eyes and frowned. Dean looked happy, but for a moment—perhaps it was just the lighting—he could have sworn Dean’s eyes were blue rather than the usual mossy green. Sam shook his head as Jinx returned to clear the emptied plates away and set down two more beers. She paused for a moment, tray in hand and gaze focused on the stage and a faint sheen of tears in her eyes as the singer's voice drifted through the dim restaurant.

But as I walked through the foggy streets alone

It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known…

A foggy day, in London town

Had me low, had me down…

I viewed the morning, with much alarm

British Museum, had lost its charm…

Sam reached out fingers grazing her bare wrist and a sudden spark of pain blossomed between his eyes as he spoke. "Miss, you okay?"

Blue eyes drifted from their focus on the stage to Sam’s face. "Yeah, I…well my sister used to love Ella Fitzgerald’s music." Jinx offered him a watery smile. "She really loved Shaniqua’s renditions. Used to say that no one did Ella like her," Turning away, she shifted the tray against the swell of her hip as she cleared her throat. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Shaking his head, Sam offered her an understanding smile, although he doubted she noticed because he was damn sure she was lost in distant memories. "Not right now, but thanks."

With a sharp nod, Jinx vanished into the crowd, leaving Sam to wonder what he’d felt when he’d touched Melanie’s younger sister. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and tried to shake off the sudden eerie feeling he’d been right. They hadn’t found this place by accident. His gaze drifted back to the stage as the song ended.

For suddenly, I saw you there.

And through foggy London town,

The sun was shining everywhere

Everywhere…

Everywhere…

Everywhere…

The room exploded in applause, loud and riotous after the silence. Shaniqua bowed low, slick shining lips stretched in a wide smile as her gaze moved over the crowded room. When she spoke, there was a syrupy sweet hint of the Deep South in her words. "Thank you. Thank you. Now all you regulars know I do requests and I just had a request. This one goes out to Sam and Dean." Her smile widened even further as her dark eyes settled on Sam through the smoke and darkness. "Listen and learn the truth."

Sam’s mouth fell open in shock as she turned away with a wink. Scanning the room, he searched for any sign of anyone who could have made the request. Only two people knew them in Hannibal, Eric and Cissy, and neither of them seemed to be here. Swallowing hard he glanced towards Dean as the music began and this time he knew for a split second, his brother’s eyes appeared a clear blue. They stared at one another and then Dean turned away focusing on Shaniqua's glittering form as her voice joined the music.

After one whole quart of brandy

Like a daisy, I'm awake

With no Bromo-Seltzer handy

I don't even shake…

Men are not a new sensation

I've done pretty well I think

But this half-pint imitation

Put me on the blink

Eyes focusing on Shaniqua he followed her swaying, graceful movements across the stage and the taste of bile began to swell on his tongue. He tried to focus on the words as best he could as her molasses sweet voice swept through the quieted room. All eyes were on her and all ears focused on the music that seemed to twine around her and infuse the air in the room with an electrical current.

I'm wild again, beguiled again

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…

Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep

When love came and told me, I shouldn't sleep

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…

He swallowed back the bitterness painting the inside of his mouth and came to the conclusion there was more to this singer than met the eye. Her words seemed to swirl around him, sliding beneath his skin, and permeating his muscles. They scraped against the rawness of his heart and engraved themselves into the calcified surface of his bones, digging deep into his marrow and freezing it.

Lost my heart, but what of it

He is cold I agree

He can laugh, but I love it

Although the laugh's on me

I'll sing to him, each spring to him

And long, for the day when I'll cling to him

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…

Someone else, Sam thought to himself, there had been someone else Melanie had loved. The dull ache returned as the words continued to weave their spell on him. But who was it? Eric had really loved her and then there was the mysterious husband, Brandon Chan, but there was someone else. Someone she loved beyond reason and he knew whoever that someone was had given her the necklace they’d found at the lighthouse.

He's a fool and don't I know it

But a fool can have his charms

I'm in love and don't I show it

Like a babe in arms…

Love's the same old sad sensation

Lately I've not slept a wink

Since this half-pint imitation

Put me on the blink…

I've sinned a lot, I'm mean a lot

But I'm like sweet seventeen a lot

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…

Who, he wondered as the pain sharpened, could she have loved that would have caused her death. He didn’t believe whoever she’d loved had killed her, but rather someone who’d found out about this forbidden love. Someone disgusted by what they’d discovered and confronted her. Sam knew they would have to talk to Melanie’s family there was no way around it.

I'll sing to him, each spring to him

And worship the trousers that cling to him

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…

When he talks, he is seeking

Words to get, off his chest

Horizontally speaking, he's at his very best

Vexed again, perplexed again

Thank God, I can be over sexed again

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I…

Even as the pain increased, the story unfolded inside his head, simple pages like one of those silly flipbooks he’d loved as a child. Of course, the images weren’t complete, but shattered bits and pieces of color and light. His thoughts drifted to the bathroom mirror he’d smashed. Each individual piece, nothing in and of itself, but together they told a story. Sam shook his head, blinking against the pain that crawled into his skull and wrapped around his brain as the music had born painfully into his bones.

Wise at last, my eyes at last,

Are cutting you down to your size at last

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more…

Burned a lot, but learned a lot

And now you are broke, so you earned a lot

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more…

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he focused on the stage. There, a hint of a shadow echoing Shaniqua’s each step, each movement, as if it were a part of her. It was like looking at a double exposure, witnessing an echo rather than hearing it. No one else seemed to see or notice it and yet he knew it was real. He bit into his lower lip forcing his mind to overcome the pain, to focus on the words that spilled from the singer’s throat like strands of sparkling jewels and pearls—precious and beautiful.

Couldn't eat, was dyspeptic

Life was so hard to bear

Now my heart's antiseptic

Since you moved out of there

Romance, finis. Your chance, finis.

Those ants that invaded my pants, finis.

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more…

As Shaniqua’s voice whispered away so did the shadow and a part of Sam realized Melanie had been that shadow or rather what remained of her. The music faded and with the music so did the pain. It faded until nothing but a faint echo of it remained with him. Moisture collected in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. He reached up rubbing fingertips between his eyes and released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"You okay, Sammy?"

He glanced over to see Dean looking at him with worry in his obviously green eyes. Leaning across the table, he whispered. "I know what we need to do."

"Excuse me, dude?" Dean frowned.

"We need to talk to Jinx and then we need to talk to her family. There was someone else."

Dean frowned, confusion in his eyes. "You’re starting to worry me, Sam. Why do we have to talk to Jinx? And what the hell do you mean there was someone else?"

Shaking his head to clear the last misty strands of pain, he clenched his fingers, flexing the muscles in his aching arms. He had to get up and move, shake this ache out of his body. "Melanie was married, but there was someone else she was in love with."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "How the hell did you come to that conclusion?"

"Just trust me, Dean." He glanced up from beneath his bangs. "But first I need to talk to Shaniqua." He pushed his seat back standing and leg muscles screaming bloody murder. "I think there’s a lot more to this story than we’ve uncovered… a hell of a lot more."

***

They’d paid their bill and made their way to the back of the restaurant where a long narrow and hall led to the dressing rooms. With all the musicians and employees, scurrying about it was simple to slip by what passed for security until they hit the end of a hall. Standing in front of the last door was a large African-American man, all muscle and midnight skin, he didn’t even flinch when Sam approached him, but Dean could see the tick of the muscles clenched tight in his jaw.

"No admittance." He growled as Sam opened his mouth to speak.

Sam glanced back at Dean who shrugged, then back to the unstoppable mountain of the man who still hadn’t budged. "We just need to speak with…"

"What did I say, boy? No admittance and I…"

A musical voice drifted from the room beyond his broad shoulders. "André, sweetheart let Sam and Dean in I’ve been expecting them."

André stepped aside with a low growl in the back of his throat and pushed the door the rest of the way open, "You sure, Shani?"

"Yes, sweetheart…I’m positive."

Sam nodded to Dean and they walked past André who didn’t seem too happy and into the dressing room. The scent of vanilla scented the air, candles flickering around the room, and Sam was positive the scent was from the candles themselves. It was warm and faint, not too strong like some scented candles he’d smelled before.

"Close the door, child. We have much to talk about."

Pushing the door shut, Dean followed Sam around the high glass block wall and into the main room. Here the scent was a bit stronger joined by a faint citrus scent as well. The singer who’d been on stage sat at a dressing table, back to them, draped in a deep rose-colored silk kimono. A huge lighted mirror hung above the table reflecting the light’s glow into a halo. She sat the brush she held down head lifting up and focused on Sam and Dean’s reflection in the mirror, eyes dark and deep as a well.

"You’ve come about Melanie haven’t you child? Your brother he is haunted by the girl and by far much more."

Dean glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye and then back at Shaniqua’s elegant face reflected in the silvered glass, long graceful neck trailing down to disappear into the silk of her robe. Their eyes locked for a moment and then he shook his head. "How do you know that?"

She slowly turned in the chair so she faced them. "Because, child…she told me."

All the color drained from Dean’s face and Sam thought he was going to collapse. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, he stiffened his spine, and straightened his shoulders meeting Shaniqua’s gaze head on. "Melanie Jenkins is dead."

Her full lips curled in a smirk, a spark of something quite natural glowing in her eyes. "Yes, that she is child, but the dead speak to me." She turned on Sam. "Just as you know the other world speaks to my niece."

"Cissy," Sam whispered.

"Oh, yes." Shaniqua’s rich laughter filled the room. "We have much to speak of tonight."

***

"So, she wasn’t kidding when she said it ran in the family."

They’d settled in for conversation in the comfy sitting area of Shaniqua’s dressing room. Plush soft chairs and a heavy wood coffee table between them, stained with years of glasses and cups, its surface marred with scratches. A tray set out by a waiter from the restaurant with cups and a pot of freshly brewed coffee flavored with chicory.

"No, she was not, Sam. My niece she be many things, but a liar she is not." She peered at them above her cup of coffee. "My sister raised the child well considering all things." Leaning forward she sat her cup down. "I hope you don’t mind the chicory. I can’t help, but to cling to a few things from my home."

"Reminds me of New Orleans," Dean spoke up staring into his cup. "My dad and I were down there…"

"After Katrina." she finished causing Dean to glance up with wide eyes. "Aw…yes my beloved city she has suffered many things. Surprise me not one or two of you would find your way there. Especially, when the dark magic stirs it feeds off the fears of the survivors who stayed at the fringes." Shaking her head, she sighed. "Enough about me I’ve sent the message that poor girl needed me to send."

"Message?" Dean frowned.

She laughed. "How you think your brother knows there was another? Spirits talk to me through the music, child. Sometimes when one crosses from life to death in such a violent way, they have few options on how they can speak. Sometimes they speak in actions and other times they reach out with what was loved by them in life—music or art."

"The song you sang." Sam nodded. "She’s drawn to Dean, but there were things she couldn’t say or do even through him."

Shaniqua nodded.

"Look, this is…" Dean paused sitting his coffee aside, “I didn’t ask for this, but we’re here. We need to find her put her to rest."

"No, you did not ask for this, Dean. You screamed for it." She shifted in her seat, reaching out to fold her long slender hands over his. Her eyes drifted shut, a crease appearing between her eyes before they drifted open once more. "You poor child." she whispered. "You must put the anger and the fear behind you."

Dean pulled away, standing and turning his back to them as Sam gave Shaniqua a worried glance. He saw sympathy in her dark eyes as he stood, and then she stood. Moving to his side she reached up cupping his jaw and looked deep into his eyes, studying him, gaze digging deep beneath the surface. Her hand was cool against his flushed cheek as he realized she saw the truth inside him. Standing on tiptoe her lips brushed along his cheek and to his ear where she whispered a handful of words.

"You are his soul, child. He needs your strength and your love far more than you realize." Pulling back, she smiled up at Sam. "Go now and know my prayers are with you."

With a nod he turned away, eyes focused on Dean’s hunched shoulders. Glancing back, he licked his lips nerves on edge and met her gaze. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. Thank you both for what you do for the lost souls roaming this world."

Offering her a smile, he moved to Dean and laid a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Dean?" He could feel the tense muscles in Dean’s shoulder tremble beneath his palm.

Dean turned to Sam and offered him a weak smile. "I’m okay, Sammy."

"Then let’s go back." Sam offered, the look in his eyes speaking far more than any words could say. "We need to get an early start in the morning." He curled one arm around Dean’s shoulders and guided him to the door.

As they reached the door, Dean turned back glancing at Shaniqua. "Thank you." He mouthed.

She smiled bright at him watching as they walked out the door. Sighing she glanced around the room and whispered. "Let them find peace in one another."


	12. Chapter 12

Neither of them had slept well the night before, but they both rose with the sun, and did exactly what they’d been dreading. Of course, both of them had very different reasons for dreading the visit to Melanie’s family.

 

***

 

Her family lived in a nice home on the outskirts of Hannibal in a family oriented neighborhood where there were large lawns and space for privacy, a thing few city neighborhoods could boast. Its deep rust red brick walls, at least a century old, rose up three floors, and a wide wooden porch stretched the entire width. The flat roof of the porch supported by large pillars topped with curling acanthus leaves that reminded Sam of the temples in ancient Greece he’d seen in his art history textbooks back at Stanford. The upper level encompassed by dark wood railing. Small, neatly trimmed rose bushes bordered the front of the porch late blooming roses, bright crimson beneath the autumn sunlight despite the chill in the air.

"You don’t have to do this with me." Sam offered gaze lingering on the huge rusty orange pumpkins sitting on either side of the front door, a reminder of how close Halloween was. "You can stay here, man."

Dean exhaled, running his hands over his face in an attempt to erase what remained of the exhaustion that seemed to linger. He’d slept little and when he had there had been dreams, slivers of what he believed to be of Melanie’s last moments on earth. "I’m going with you." There was no room to argue in his tone as he pulled the keys from the ignition and pushed open the driver’s side door. He paused with one leg swung out of the car, booted foot resting on the grassy curb, and glimpsed Sam’s reflection in the windshield. "She picked me, Sam. For some reason she picked me and I’m going to see this through, no matter what."

Slipping from the car, he let the door shut behind him. He straightened his shoulders and wondered if Sam understood. A part of him doubted it, but there was another part praying his brother did. Because honestly, he didn’t want to be alone in this, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to do this by himself.

 

***

 

Melanie Jenkins’ father was a burly man and nothing Sam nor Dean had imagined. He was a long haul truck driver whose Nordic origins were clear in his height and the tumble of grey streaked loose blonde curls that fell around his square jaw to his shoulders. He was dressed in faded jeans, cowboy boots, and dark blue plaid flannel that brought out the blue of his eyes. He’d raised a curious brow when they’d identified themselves as FBI, but let them in with a gleam of anger in his eyes. Leading them into a brightly lit kitchen with spring green walls and maple cabinets, he waved them to the butcher-block table. As he poured coffee, Dean had to suppress the chuckle that rose in his throat at the sight of this rough and tumble man doing such a domestic thing.

"You’ll have to excuse my wife for not being here. Rachael hasn’t been the same since Melanie’s disappearance." He turned and sat three heavy ceramic mugs of steaming coffee on the table, reaching up to scratch at his bearded jaw. "She refuses to accept that our daughter is gone. She always was stubborn when it came to our kids."

Sam lifted one of the mugs, cupping it in his palms, and blew across the dark brew. "How many kids do you have, Mr. Jenkins?"

"Paul is fine." He chuckled, a deep robust sound. "Mr. Jenkins is my father. We have three; Charlie our oldest he’s twenty-six and in the military, doing another tour in Iraq, and our youngest Jinx, God only knows why she prefers that nick name, she just turned twenty-one and she’s working at The Mississippi Blues down on the riverfront. We tried to get her to go ahead to college, but she refuses to leave her mother’s side. Melanie, God rest her soul," his eyes shone with unshed tears, "she was our middle child. You could tell it, too. She always worked above and beyond like most middle kids to prove herself."

"She was attending Washington University, right?" Dean questioned.

Paul nodded. "Yes, she was…she was starting her senior year there and took a few days off to come up here for the party we threw for Charlie. Soon as she got up here all hell broke loose."

Frowning, Sam leaned across the table. "What do you mean?"

"Rachael and Melanie weren’t exactly the poster children for excellent parent/child relationships. Mel had a habit of getting involved with the wrong kind of boys. Her mother wanted her to settle down with that nice young man that works at the paper, Eric Culver. Hell, my wife had tried her damnedest to hook them up from the time they were twelve." He sighed, sipping his coffee and staring out the window.

"So, why didn’t it work?"

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he followed Paul’s gaze to the huge backyard where a rusted swing set stood and a brick patio stretched out to meet lush grass scattered with fall leaves. The young woman who’d waited on them the night before at the restaurant was sitting on one of the swings swinging back and forth, face expressionless as she stared up into the wide overhanging branches of a red maple. Sunlight pierced the crimson leaves dancing in sparkling patterns across her pale cheeks and Dean decided her black hair was a dye job. She was way too damn pale for natural black hair.

Paul snorted. "Eric was gay. My wife though, she’s one of those people who believe if a gay man can meet the right women he’ll miraculously become straight. Never could convince her otherwise and she about drove the two of them nuts."

Shifting in his chair, Dean turned back to Paul. "So, Eric is gay? Not bi-sexual?"

The laugh that escaped Paul this time was full of amusement. "Of course, that’s why Brandon Chan was so pissed when he and Melanie came up here for a week the summer before she disappeared."

Sam’s brows shot up beneath his bangs. "Brandon?"

"Yeah, Melanie was so pissed at her mom that when she met Brandon at college she began dating him simply because he was Asian, and when he proposed to her, she said yes."

"So, they weren’t married."

Paul frowned at Dean’s question. "See that’s where it gets a bit hairy. When Mel came up in October, she swore that she and Brandon weren’t married, but Eric told me she had a wedding band in her purse during that summer trip. Eric said he was worried about her afterwards. He thought Brandon was a bit on the abusive side, showed a violent temper, I believe was Eric’s exact words. Apparently, Mel came by Eric’s office without him, Brandon showed up, and there was an argument. Eric threatened to call the police and Brandon left. Later Brandon showed up and apologized to Eric, but he also said Brandon propositioned him as well."

This time Dean’s eyebrows shot up. "Propositioned him…A sexual proposition?"

Nodding, Paul took another sip of his coffee, heavy brows twisting in a frown. "Yes. Eric didn’t go into details, but from what he told me I gathered part of the argument was because Mel wasn’t interested in having Brandon’s boyfriend involved in their relationship. Mel wasn’t that kind of girl. When she was with someone, she was with that person alone. Brandon figured if she didn’t want that then maybe she’d accept one involving Eric since they were best friends. Eric wasn’t interested in Brandon in the least he’d been involved with an interior designer at the time living in Chicago. He was trying to get hired on at the Chicago Herald so he could move up there, but things didn’t pan out."

Sam leaned back in his chair, fingertips tracing the rim of the coffee mug. "I don’t mean to sound ignorant, but you seem very open minded about alternative lifestyles. Most people in areas like this aren’t."

Laughing, Paul swallowed the last of his coffee, "No, problem son. One…I’m not originally from here, I’m from Los Angeles. Two…my oldest sister came out of the closet before it was acceptable. She’s back in LA, she works for one of the studios as a writer, and she’s been with her life companion for twenty-five years. Longer than most marriages last now days."

 

***

 

Sam glanced over at Dean in the passenger side with a quirked brow and sighed. He’d been lost in thought since they’d left the Jenkins’ home and he wasn’t inclined to share any of those thoughts it seemed. Paul had suggested they go speak with Daniel McAbee the pastor who helped organize the candlelight vigil. He’d explained that Pastor McAbee and Melanie had been close before she headed off to college in St. Louis and even afterwards, they spoke regularly on the phone and exchanged letters. If anyone might have a clue as to what happened to their daughter he might.

"So what do you think now?" Sam questioned as he guided the car into the church parking lot.

Dean turned towards Sam. "I think the shit keeps getting deeper. What I want to know is who you seem to think Melanie was in love with?"

As he brought the car to a stop, Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Honestly, I don’t know, but whoever it was didn’t kill her."

"How in the hell would you know that, dude?"

Sam frowned. "I just got that feeling last night. This person is the one she wanted to be with, but she felt like she couldn’t be. There was this taste of the forbidden…that’s the only way I can describe it." He favored a sidelong glance in Dean’s direction, knowing exactly how that felt.

A sudden thought occurred to Dean. "Maybe it was…" he inclined his head towards the church.

"The pastor…You’re kidding, right?"

Dean snorted. "No. It’s not as if it’s impossible one of his flock, tempted a man of the cloth. Maybe he wanted Melanie for his own and he couldn’t have her because of the whole vow thing."

"That’s Catholics, Dean, but you have a point. If he’s married and a pastor the whole love triangle thing could be a possibility." Sam scratched at the stubble on his jaw. "It’s definitely a possibility."

Dean scrubbed at his eyes. "I’m starting to believe anything is possible in this town."

 

***

 

Pastor Daniel McAbee wasn’t exactly your typical small town pastor, but then very little had been typical so far in Hannibal. He was shorter than Dean by a few inches, slim, and close to forty yet there was no grey to be seen in his thick chestnut hair.

Glancing up from where he was laying out hymnals in the pews he smiled, a wide friendly smile that welcomed parishioners every Wednesday and Sunday, "Good afternoon, gentlemen…What can I do for you?" He dusted off his hands as Sam approached and held his hand out.

"FBI," Sam flipped out the thin wallet from his jacket pocket. "Are you Pastor McAbee?"

The smile faltered for a moment and his hand fell to his side limp. "This is about Melanie, isn’t it?" His voice became a tight whisper as he turned his back. "Did you find her?"

"No," Dean spoke up as he moved to Sam’s side, "we were given her case to reinvestigate and we’re speaking to everyone in town. We’re trying to see if anything was missed."

McAbee turned, dark eyes narrowed. "Deputy Barnhart didn’t mention you."

"That’s because we haven’t spoke to the local authorities, sir." Sam studied the man’s face. "We’ve chose to speak to only the civilians in this case so far. Melanie’s father told us that you might have some insight into her mindset the night of her disappearance."

Moving down the aisle, McAbee waved them to follow. "Paul seems to think that his daughter and I had some special bond, although what we had was no different than any of my other parishioners. They are all part of my flock and I give them equal attention when it comes to their need for spiritual guidance." He moved around the altar and down a hallway that led off to the left.

Dean gave Sam a quick glance that simply said ‘more bullshit’ and then headed down the hallway after McAbee. Close on his heels Sam followed peering through open doors into dark and dusty rooms used for storage and others used for Sunday school classes. He had to agree with Dean on the bullshit. From the moment he’d looked into Pastor McAbee’s eyes, he’d known the man was hiding something, but what he had no idea.

When he reached the final door, McAbee pushed it open and waved them into a study of dark wood and whitewashed walls. "Melanie was a special young woman. Talented and yet drawn quite often to the dark side." He walked around the heavy wooden desk and stared out the window to the churchyard beyond, early afternoon light danced across the monuments and through the colorful leaves of the maples and oaks scattered through the area. "She came to me first when she was sixteen and wanted to talk about the things most teenagers are worried about."

"What would that be?" Dean asked.

"Boys, school, fighting with their parents." He turned from the window with a faint sigh and waved at the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat, gentlemen."  
Sam settled into one of the cushioned chairs and glanced at Dean who was perusing the bookshelves to his right. He cleared his throat and Dean turned towards him, "Seat."

Something dark flitted across Dean’s face as he moved towards the desk and took the other chair. Sam was wondering what in the hell was going through his brother’s mind, but he imagined he’d have to wait until they left the church behind. Even now after almost a year on the road, he seldom understood what was going on in Dean’s head, and especially not now after Connecticut.

"So," Dean spoke up, “Paul said you and Melanie exchanged letters."

Pastor McAbee cleared his throat. "We did exchange a few letters. Most of them were about her problems as she settled into college, nothing more."

"And the phone calls?" Sam questioned.

Eyes wide, McAbee feigned the appearance of being shell-shocked. "We never spoke on the phone. Did her father tell you that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact he did." Voice edged with ice, Dean leaned forward. "Why would he lie about something like that?"

McAbee shook his head. "Paul wouldn’t lie, but where he got this idea I have no clue. Melanie and I never spoke after she left for college. We didn’t speak in person until the night she vanished."

Leaning in closer Sam frowned. "You spoke to her that night?"

"Yes, of course. I was giving the benediction at the party for her brother Charlie." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The police believe I might have been the last person to have seen her that night."

Dean inhaled harshly, "Where?"

McAbee glanced up. "Excuse me?"

"Where did you see her?" Dean demanded through clenched teeth.

"The flower garden…just outside the flower garden actually. She seemed a bit upset and I stopped her outside the gate. She told me this boy, Brendan or Brandon, they'd fought right before she left on the drive up here from St. Louis. Apparently, he’d called her and threatened to kill himself if she didn’t come back to St. Louis."

Sam wondered if there was more to McAbee than met the eye, "Really?"

"That’s what she told me. I suggested she needed to free herself from this boy despite his threats. Melanie was often getting involved with the wrong boys."

Nodding, Dean stood. "Thank you Pastor McAbee. We might come by to speak with you again."

He turned and headed for the door not even caring if Sam were following. He could hear Sam say something low behind him as he headed out in the sanctuary. Just as he reached the front doors, he heard Sam running to catch up with him, and then his hand curled over his shoulder.

"What the hell was that about?" Sam hissed as he yanked Dean around.

Dean’s eyes flashed and for a split-second Sam saw the vivid blue from the night before. "He’s a fucking liar." He hissed yanking away from Sam’s touch to head out the door and down the stairs.

Standing in the doorway, Sam stared at Dean’s back, mouth practically hanging open as he tried to make sense of what was going on. This wasn’t about an unsolved murder any more or even a vengeful spirit. Melanie had somehow worked her way into Dean’s brain, into his soul, and though Sam knew he wasn’t possessed in the traditional sense, he was terrified he was losing his brother again.

 

***

 

They were sitting inside the local Burger King, lunch crowd having dispersed long ago, leaving the majority of the small restaurant’s booths empty. Near the counter was a flustered young mother with a small boy around four and an infant in a carrier. Her dark blonde hair pulled in a messy ponytail and she was fussing over the infant as her oldest launched French fries at her across the table. Sam sat watching Dean watch them with faraway eyes and he wondered if maybe he was thinking how it could have been if their mother hadn’t died. Sometimes he caught Dean at moments like this, faraway look in his eyes, and slight tick in his jaw from clenching it so hard. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew if he did say something Dean would just pull away. He cleared his throat and Dean turned back to his half-eaten burger, idly pushing fries around on the burger wrapper.

"Dean, you okay, dude?"

Dean glanced up. "Sam…I…" he turned away and glanced out the window at the passing traffic on the Interstate.

"What, man? You’re starting to worry me." Sam lifted his cup, popping the plastic lid, and taking a deep drink of his Coke. "Since last night you’ve been…" he waved his hand in the air as if that were explanation enough.

"All she wanted was to be happy." Dean whispered.

Sam took another swallow of his Coke, glancing out the window to where Dean’s attention had focused on the distant bridge crossing the churning river, muddy surface almost gold in the late afternoon light. "I suppose that’s all any of us want."

He reached out, fingers grazing the corded bracelet around Dean’s wrist, the same one that encircled his own. Dean had tied it around his wrist the day he’d left for Stanford and Sam had never taken it off. He remembered his brother’s words that day as if he’d only spoken them yesterday, but it’d been close to five years.

Sammy, give him some time…he’ll come around.

Now he understood what Dean had been trying to say with that simple action…bound together always by blood, loss, and a love Dean couldn’t bear to speak aloud. Even then, Dean had loved him far deeper than a brother should, but Sam had been too close to see it. He remembered Jess asking him once about that bracelet and he’d looked at it with a faint smile, telling her it was a gift, and the story was a long one for another time. Of course, he’d never had a chance to explain it to her and even if he had he wouldn’t have known the entire story behind the simple gift.

"You’re thinking about her."

He glanced up from Dean’s wrist, fingers dark against Dean’s fairer complexion, "No, not really." He replied. "I was thinking about the day I left."

Dean nodded as he sucked in a deep breath, "The necklace."

Frowning Sam looked back at the black corded material and it hit him, "Unspoken love. Whoever gave Melanie the necklace gave it to her before she went to St. Louis. Whoever she was in love with gave it to her as…"

"A reminder," Dean finished. "I think it’s time that we go talk to Deputy Barnhart."

 

***

 

On the way to the Marion County Sheriff’s Department, Sam decided he required a little help on discovering the truth of the necklace. Bronwen, who he hadn’t seen nor spoke to her since the waiting room at the hospital could help. Had it only been a few days ago? A shiver travelled down his spine. So much had happened since he’d pulled Dean out of that back room and carried him from the bar. No, he’d seen her after that in the garden at the hospital when Dean had collapsed at the lighthouse. Jesus, the days were beginning to melt into one another. Bile rose in his throat as he tried Bronwen’s number for the third time since they’d left the restaurant. Unfortunately, he kept getting the same message that the number he’d dialed was outside his service area, even though he knew she was in Hannibal.

"Who’re you trying to call?" Dean asked eyes never leaving the ribbon of blacktop.

"Bronwen." he replied and shut off the phone again with a grunt of frustration. Tapping the phone against his chin, he sucked on his lower lip deep in thought. He imagined Cissy might help, but for some reason she gave him the woollies, "How much further?"

Dean gave him a sidelong glance, "Couple of miles." There was a moment of silence filled with the low rumble of Zeppelin on the tape player. "Why did Bronwen come here to Hannibal?"

"I called her." Sam sighed.

Humming, Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "Aren’t there enough freaks in this town for you already? I mean between Cissy, Shaniqua, and you I think we have all the psychics I can handle."

"Maybe I should call Cissy?"

Dean grunted, "Maybe. She seems to be damn useful when it comes to fucking my head up." He steered the Impala to the right and began whistling along with the song that was playing. Suddenly he stopped whistling mid-note and frowned.

"What is it, Dean?"

As Dean guided the Impala into the parking lot of the Marion County Courthouse, an odd smile curled his lips. "Call her."

"Cissy?"

"Yeah, tell her to meet us at the church in a couple of hours."

Shaking his head as if it would help process this sudden change in Dean, Sam glanced at his brother. "So are you going to let me in on what’s going on in that thick skull, dude?"

Dean shut off the engine and turned, dying afternoon light reflected in his eyes, and Sam swore his eyes were blue, again. "Trust me, Sammy."

 

***

 

A peroxide blonde, younger version of Flo from the 70’s sitcom ‘Alice’, was sitting behind the main desk of the sheriff’s office when they entered. She was busy filing her hot pink nails as she popped a wad of gum, and watched the clock. When they entered, she turned, blue-shadowed eyes widening, looking them up and down as if they were both succulent steaks. Sam could feel his cheeks bloom with heat as he used every bit of his self-control to not turn and run for the hills.  
"Well, well…what can I do you two handsome young men for?" Her voice was the sickening sweet tone older women believed sexy. Of course, it only came off as slutty and perverted.

Dean flashed his brightest smile and flipped out his ID, "Hey, there sexy. I’m Agent Hendrix and this is my partner Morrison we’re with the FBI." He drawled in that voice that had Sam wanting to bend him over the nearest available surface.

"Well, Agent Hendrix…" the receptionist purred, "I’m Penny…as in penny candy and trust me I’m just as sweet."

Sam nearly vomited right there on the worn tile floor. The nausea only got worse when Dean replied with a brighter smile and a purred reply.

"I bet you are." Dean licked his lips slow sending Penny into a fit of girlish giggles. "Could you help out a fellow officer of the law?"

"I can try, sweetie."

Turning away, Sam studied the ceiling so intensely his eyeballs began to throb in their sockets. Not only that, but he could swear that he could see the tiniest details of the spider web fluttering in the far corner near the heating vent.

"Is Deputy Barnhart on duty? My partner and I have some business to discuss."

Her glitter-glossed lips curled in a predatory smile as she leaned in. "Well, honey you’re in luck. Leonard got back in about a half hour ago. Let me give him a yell and see if he can meet with you."

 

***

 

"Agent Morrison, Agent Hendrix…I’m Leonard Barnhart." Deputy Barnhart stood from his desk walking around and offering a thick, meaty hand with calloused fingertips. He was somewhere between Sam and Dean in height, but carried more bulk, his tan uniform shirt stretched taunt across his chest.  
Sam accepted his offered hand and noted how strong and firm the handshake was. "We really appreciate you taking the time to speak with us." He took a seat as Dean shook Barnhart’s hand as well and settled into the chair next to him. "I’m sorry we hadn’t gotten around to dropping by sooner, but we wanted to speak to some of Melanie’s family and friends before we got the straight story from you."

Leaning against the desk, legs crossed at the ankle, Barnhart smiled. "Well, I’m not too happy that I didn’t know you were here, but I can see the value of what you did. Now what can I help you boys out with?"

Clearing his throat, Dean stretched his legs out. "Maybe you can fill in some of the voids we’ve run into on the Melanie Jenkins’ case."

Barnhart shook his head as he reached across the desk and pulled a pack of Marlboro Reds from his desk draw. "Hope you don’t mind me smoking boys."  
He shook one out, slipping it between his lips, and dropped the pack to the desk. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a disposable and lit the tip, wavering blue flame highlighting the deep creases of age around his mouth and eyes. He shoved the lighter back into his pocket inhaling deep and leaned back against the desk, one palm flat against the scarred wooden surface. With a soft exhale, he stared down at the cigarette trapped between his fingers.

"You know…I quit this shit fifteen years ago and started back up last fall." He paused took another drag and stared down at his feet. When he spoke again, his words came out strained. "I knew that girl her entire life. Never imagined it would end like this. Can’t rightly say what happened that night. Sheriff Hoffmeyer handed me the case because I knew the family. Paul and me go hunting every November together…have since his oldest was born. Charlie he’s a good kid…some thought he should have stayed behind when his sister went missing, but the boy’s a soldier through and through. He stayed through the holidays and then he headed out on his next tour."

Sam studied the elder man and suddenly thought about his father. "You were a soldier, weren’t you?"

Barnhart nodded, "Vietnam…three tours of duty. I was in the Corp."

"So was my dad." Sam nodded. "Was there anything found during the search? I mean we know about her car, its location, and the trace evidence. But was there anything else found? Maybe, later?"

Dropping the cigarette to the floor, he ground it out with his heel, and then glanced up at Sam. "Yeah, there was. I think it was about a month after Melanie disappeared. One of the other deputies got a call about some kids out there, fooling around on the cliff. While she and her partner were there, they found a piece of material. She bagged and tagged it on the spot and called me…Turned out she’d been right to do it. Turned out to be a piece of the dress Melanie had been wearing that night."

"Where did you find it?" Dean questioned, brows drawn together.

"It was behind the lighthouse, caught in the brush, at the edge of the cliff. I suppose I should have let her family know right off, but I…" he paused reaching for his cigarettes again, “you see Melanie’s momma was already torn up something awful. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I thought."

Dean inhaled sharp causing Sam to glance his way. "And what was that?"

He dropped the cigarette box, shock in his dark eyes. "Well, we didn’t let it go if that’s what you think, son. I sent one of the boys down that cliff and he found one of her shoes about forty feet down on a ledge, stained with blood. Afterward I called off the search. I couldn’t tell her and Paul their daughter committed suicide, hell I didn’t want to believe it." Running his hands over his face, he sighed.

"What if she didn’t though?"

Barnhart met Dean’s intense gaze. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Dean growled. "What if she didn’t kill herself? What if someone killed her?" He slowly got to his feet, eyes angry. "What if someone in this stupid hick ass fucking town decided she needed to be dead?"

Jumping to his feet, Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder as Barnhart stared at what, Sam imagined, he thought was a FBI agent gone insane. "Dean!" He snapped, yanking his brother around.

When their eyes met, all the anger seemed to drain from his face along with any semblance of color. "Sam…I’m…" he pulled away and walked out the door.

Sam stood there staring at where Dean had stood seconds before and shook his head. Turning back to Barnhart, he swallowed hard, "My apologies Deputy Barnhart. My partner he…well he lost someone once and sometimes it gets hard for him."

Nodding, Barnhart reached for his cigarettes, again. "I get that…I do. Few things in this world are worse than losing those you love to violence."

Cheeks burning in embarrassment, Sam took his leave, and headed after Dean. This was the second time today Dean had reacted violently to two different men…McAbee and Barnhart. He thought about those glimpses of blue in Dean’s eyes again and he knew this had to stop. Dean was his brother and there was no way he was continuing to humor a spirit who believed she had the right to squat in Dean’s brain. Dean had been through enough and Sam was putting his foot down.

The ‘For Rent’ sign, on Dean’s brain and body was now officially gone.

 

***

 

Sam could have done a great deal of things, but nothing is what he did. There was no point in aggravating the already one-track minded spook infesting Dean since the previous night. Somehow Sam understood Dean was no longer in control despite the fact his brother would argue the point if given the chance.  
Looking back through the past six months Sam concluded control was what it had been about all along. Dean had lost control the minute that demonic asshole Ingley had decided to pull him into hell. Not only that, but Ingley had torn away his control when he’d tortured and raped Dean, and then left him for dead in attempt to lure Sam into a trap. Sam knew the truth though. He’d only been as powerful as the fucking demon had allowed him to be, the demon who’d destroyed their family years ago.

With a low growl in his throat, he flipped open his phone as he crossed the parking lot, and then dialed Cissy Jacob’s number with grim determination. The spook had wanted him to call Cissy then that’s exactly what he was going to do, but he wasn’t going to play by Melanie’s rules any longer. He pressed the phone close to his ear, eyes locked on where Dean stood pacing next to the car. After three rings, he heard a click followed by a breathless voice.

"Yeah."

"Cissy."

That was all Sam did. He spoke her name and nothing more, but it was enough, enough to explain what Sam wasn’t sure he could explain. He was terrified no matter what he wouldn’t be able to protect Dean from this or perhaps he wouldn’t be able to save him from it either. Melanie’s spirit wasn’t like any vengeful spirit they’d run into before. She wasn’t simply possessing Dean. It seemed as if she’d become a part of him. The salt hadn’t stopped her from entering the motel the night he’d had the vision…

"Dean didn’t try to kill himself, did he?" Sam’s eyes burned as he stopped dead in his tracks. "She’s not only in Dean’s head…she’s in mine, too. That night…she got inside my head manipulated my own fucking power, used it against me. Then when I was trying to wake Dean, when I scared him, and he lashed out…"

Cissy’s voice drew him back to the present. "It was an accident. Your brother is angry, he feels dirty, but would the Dean you know kill himself?"

Lifting his head, he caught a glimpse of Dean pacing before he spun away, and stepped back towards the courthouse. "I…I don’t know." His voice cracked as he ran his free hand through his hair.

"Yes, you do." The gentle tone of her words crept through his brain, melting away some of the cloudiness that had blinded Sam for the past six months.

"No, Dean wouldn’t…he didn’t give up. Not even back in…" he allowed those unspoken words to linger in the silence of the parking lot. "Cissy, we went to…"

"I know you spoke to my Auntie last night and whatever she told you believe it."

Sam could hear Cissy breathing on the other end of the line. "You know she’s inside him now. She’s done everything in her power to get us to help her, but I don’t know if we can."

There was a soft shuffling sound, and then Cissy spoke up, her voice tight. "What does she want?"

"She wants you to meet us at the Episcopalian church." Sam frowned at the gritty sound of her voice. "Why in the hell would she want that?"

Cissy ignored the question. "I’ll be there in forty-five minutes."

"Sure." The line went dead before Sam could say anything further. Flipping the phone off he turned back to the car and met Dean’s aggravated expression. "I’m coming." He growled and headed for the car.

 

***

 

An hour later, they were wandering the churchyard, neither of them speaking, and Sam wondered when exactly he’d started losing Dean again. Was it when they walked into the restaurant and he’d seen Shaniqua? Had Melanie’s spirit infested him then?

Swinging a leg out, his toe connected with a pile of leaves. "Dean?"

Dean glanced up from where he was squatted in front of a small monument, weather worn angel sitting with a small child in its arms, "Yeah, Sam?" His eyes narrowed against the dying sunlight in the west.

"I…well I need to tell you something." He inhaled, autumn chill stinging his nose. "Something happened back in Connecticut…something I…"

"Sam, it’s okay." Dean’s voice filled with pain, eyes shifting from Sam to the twilight sky. Glancing down at the yellowing grass and scattered leaves he sighed, a frustrated sound that echoed through the churchyard. "You got me out of there. That’s all that matters."

Eyes searching the sky, Sam wrapped his arms around his chest. Suddenly it seemed colder than it had mere seconds before. "It’s not that…I…" he paused, chest tightening. How could he tell Dean he knew what he’d went through in that wet, black hell far beneath the earth? How do you tell your brother you experienced every bruise, bite, and every stroke of the unearthly body raping him intimately?

Dean drew to his feet, crossing the small space separating them, "What then, Sammy?"

Shaking his head, Sam let out a dark humorless half-laugh. "I…there were things…"

Before he could figure out how to begin, Cissy’s voice rang out, causing both of them to turn back towards the church. She waved at them from the stoop and Dean grinned as he moved closer to Sam, breath warm against the shell of Sam's ear. Sam held his breath, thinking Dean was going to either nip or maybe kiss the lobe of his ear. Dean did neither, but rather he spoke, each puff of air sending chills down Sam’s spine. The voice he heard wasn’t Dean’s alone.

"You called her as I asked…thank you."

By the time Sam retrieved his bearings and turned, Dean was looking at him with a frown. "What did you say, Dean?"

"I didn’t say anything."

 

***

 

The sanctuary was silent, but for the whispering of cloth as Dean shifted nerves on edge and glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye. He knew he’d asked Sam to call Cissy, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why in the hell he’d asked in the first place. As he clenched his fists at his sides, studying the young woman in front of him, he could feel the slickness of perspiration in his palms. He wanted this over and done with, but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling there was more to it than putting a lost soul to rest.

Somewhere inside he felt this odd swirling ball of need, want, and desire that seemed to be fighting with what had always been there. Well, not always, but it had been there after Connecticut. At first, he’d refused to accept it, he thought of it as a shadow you sometimes caught from the corner of your eye, although this shadow had a name and soon it was more than a feeling. It was taking over his life. Taking a deep breath Dean gave Sam another sidelong glance and turned, trying to focus on Cissy’s dark face.

She sat in the front pew, one leg drawn up beneath her, and long fingers picked at a worn spot in the denim at her knee. "You know sometimes there are things you regret." She began as she continued rubbing at the frayed threads. "Sometimes there are moments we all wish we could relive so we could make different decisions."

"What decision would you change?" Dean questioned in curiosity.

Cissy met his eyes. "I’m sorry, Mel. I truly am."

Dean stepped back, nearly running into Sam, and shook his head. "What the hell?"

"We know she’s in you, Dean." his arms curled around Dean’s waist from behind, palm flat against his stomach. "And frankly," he paused, lips grazing Dean’s ear, "I’m done playing fucking mind games."

Spinning around in Sam’s arms, his eyes widened. "What the hell is going on, Sam? What do you mean she’s in me?"

He pushed out with trembling hands at Sam’s chest, trying to escape from his embrace. It didn’t work. Suddenly his heart was racing wildly and no matter how hard he tried, the air wouldn’t come. He struggled as Sam pulled him closer, but it wasn’t Sam he saw…it was Ingley. Throat closing up he began panting for breath and his knees began to tremble. He shook his head as Sam dropped to the floor with him.

"No…shit…I…" face flushed with the need for oxygen he stared up, "Please don’t…"

Sam frowned as he turned, meeting Cissy’s gaze. "What the hell is happening?" Turning back to Dean, he reached out stroking his jaw and he could feel his brother flinch at his touch, "Dean, man it’s me…Sam. Come on snap out of it."

Almost as quick as the trembling began it ceased and he released a soft breath seconds before Dean went limp in his arms. His head lolled forward as Sam pulled him closer heart pounding probably as hard as Dean’s had before.

"She’s coming." Cissy whispered.

Her voice startled Sam because in all honesty he’d forgotten she was there. All he could think of was Dean…how still he was now. How he’d seen pure unadulterated terror in Dean’s eyes before he’d collapsed; lost to the memories of that place he’d fought so hard to suppress. He opened his mouth to call out to Dean again, but stopped before uttering a word, attention turning towards the back of the sanctuary. Dean’s body stiffened in his grip as the front doors of the sanctuary blew inward, an icy wind roaring through, and carrying with it a whirlwind of fallen leaves.

"Dean?" his throat tightened as his hands slipped from his brother’s body.

Dean lifted his head, eyelids fluttering open to reveal sapphire eyes. "Dean’s not home right now, Sammy." His lips curled in a smirk. "I think your little love fest actually broke him."

"No." Whispering, Sam scuttled back, spine hitting the edge of the pews. "Get out of him."

With the grace of a dancer, Dean stood, looking down at Sam with surreal eyes, "I don’t think so not yet." he turned and met Cissy’s dark gaze. "Hello, Cynthia." He purred as he moved to where she stood. "I kind of figured if anyone could help these guys it would be you."

"Leave him be, Melanie." Cissy hissed. "Don’t you think that boy’s been through enough?"

Dean stepped closer shaking his head. "That’s why I came to him. That’s why I knew he would help me. He understands what it feels like to be…" his voice trailed off.

Choking back a sound similar to a sob, Cissy met Dean’s eyes, and realized why Melanie had wanted her here. She’d felt betrayed and forgotten, even though Cissy had never forgotten. She reached out cupping Dean’s jaw, thumb caressing his lips. "I’m so sorry, Mel. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from that, but I’m here now. Let me help put you to rest." Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Let me show you that you weren’t forgotten."

Dean’s lips softened "Jesus, Cissy…I know that. I know you never forgot me, even when I tried to deny the truth about myself. Even when I married Brandon on a lark because that’s what everyone expected me to do." He lifted his hand folding it over hers where it cupped his jaw. "Please, Cissy…help me." Tears glittered in his eyes as he squeezed her fingers. "Help me…help him, too."

She smiled, tears trailing down her cheeks. "Of course, I will, Mel, anything for you, anything at all."

Lifting up on her tiptoes as Dean tilted his head down, their lips met in a passionate kiss as Sam stared on in shock. "Oh, my God…"

Cissy pulled back and turned to Sam who was stumbling to his feet. "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you’ve got to understand."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sam stared at Cissy with confusion. "Why didn’t you just tell me you and Mel were lovers?"

Dean turned. "We learned there were a couple of reasons not to tell anyone. One…we were two women who’d become lovers."

"And what is the second?" Sam questioned.

Eyes narrowed, Dean looked at Sam as if it were obvious. "Because, I was white and she was black."


	13. Chapter 13

Everything was beginning to make sense now. As the pieces fell into place, they formed a heart-wrenching picture of a young woman who only sought acceptance for who she was, and wanted happiness. Nevertheless, seeing those surreal azure eyes, Sam found himself torn between sorrow for Mel and fear for his brother. 

“I am sorry for the pain I’ve caused, but I had no choice.” Dean’s voice wasn’t quite his own, and yet he was there.

“You don’t have the right to screw with his life.” He glanced at Dean, fighting back tears.

“You don’t get it, do you? He understands why I must do this. He understands the pain I suffered because he’s been there.” Dean turned attention focused on the crucifix above the altar. “How could you understand? You weren’t the one who was used and tossed away.”

Throat tightening, Sam darted across the room and grabbed Dean spinning him around. “What the hell do you want from us?” He shook his brother until his head swayed.

Dean tossed back his head, insane laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “Justice…I want justice.”

“Melanie.” Cissy hissed. “Let him go. I swear we’ll do what we can to bring you home.”

He stopped long enough to meet her intense gaze and began to tremble in Sam’s iron grip. “Promise me…please.”

Moving to his side, Cissy smiled and focused on Dean’s terrified face. “I loved you so much. I would have done anything for you, but this world…” her hands fluttered in the air, “refused to allow that. If I couldn’t give you what you needed in life I swear I will give it to you in death.”

A sob tore from his throat, eyes shifting between blue and green. “Cold,” he whispered. “Cold and wet…he didn’t know I was still alive. He thought he’d killed me…but I was alive.”

“Oh, God.” she pressed one trembling hand to her mouth. “Who did this to you, Mel? Please tell us who it was.”

Eyes glazing over he fought to breathe, “Trusted him. The caves…ask Eric about the caves…” With those final words, Dean’s body went limp, and Sam lifted him into his arms. 

“Shit…” Sam grunted as he carried him to one of the pews and lowered his unconscious body to the seat. “Is she gone?”

Cissy shivered, “For now.”

Kneeling, Sam cupped Dean’s face between his hands. “Dean? Can you hear me, Dean?” When a moan ghosted past his lips, Sam sighed in relief. “Come on open your eyes, please?”

“What happened?” his eyes opened trying to focus on Sam’s face.

“Mel,” Sam replied, pulling Dean into his arms and clinging to him in desperation. After a couple of beats, Dean began to squirm, and Sam pulled back looking down into his annoyed face. “She wants…” he started.

“I know what she wants, Sam. What I can’t figure out is why you’re trying to squeeze me in half. Are we going to get this show on the road or are we going to keep this chick flick moment going until I have to smack you?”

Sam let out a laugh, released his grip, and got to his feet. “Show on the road.” He agreed, dimples flashing as he offered a hand up.

Pushing off the pew, Dean ignored the offer before his legs refused to cooperate. Sam surged forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders to steady him. Glancing up at Sam, Dean shrugged him off with a frown. “Dude, get off.” When he saw the hurt in Sam’s eyes, he sighed. “Sorry.”

Sam averted his gaze to the floor. “It’s okay, man.”

“No, it’s not.”

Sam looked up in surprise at the expression on his brother's face. Dean stepped close hand settling on his stooped shoulder, fingers flexing. “Dean, I…”

Dean shook his head again, free hand lifted to silence any protest. “Please, don’t. You’ve been right all along. I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with, but you need to understand.”

“I do,” Sam whispered.

Swallowing hard, Dean turned and glanced at Cissy, who leaned on the door of the chapel. He was thankful she was trying to give them some space, but he wasn’t ready yet. He knew he had to talk to Sam eventually because so far his plan to pretend nothing had changed was a bust. He’d been pushing for months, pushing Sam to walk away and leave him, but Sam being the stubborn bastard he was had refused. Now things had changed or maybe they were simply starting to change and he saw in Sam’s eyes the first hope he’d had since he’d woke in the hospital six months ago. There was no doubt in his mind his brother loved him, but it didn’t mean he understood. Hell, to be honest, Dean hoped Sam would never understand. He couldn’t imagine Sam suffering through what he had and he sent a silent prayer heavenward he never would.

Instead of answering, he headed for the door, “Call Eric. We need to find out whatever he knows about the caves Melanie mentioned.” As he reached Cissy, he glanced back at Sam who watched him with worried eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I swear.”

With that Dean walked out of the chapel and into the gathering darkness.

***

“Caves?” pushing back from his desk, Eric lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Why would you be asking about caves?” He glanced at Cissy who leaned against the office wall. “And why is she with you?” He turned to Sam, eyes narrowed as he puzzled over the pieces.

Sam sighed. “Look, when we first met with you here you said something about Melanie loving to explore the river banks. Did that include any spelunking?”

“Spelunking?” he snorted. “Melanie had an adventurous spirit, but…”

“What?” Dean asked. “What is it you’re not telling us?”

Pacing in front of the window, Eric took a deep breath before focusing on the night-shrouded river. The distant lights of barges flickered in and out between the deeper shadows of the autumn ravaged trees. “You know about Brandon?”

Sam frowned. “We know there was some question about them being married. We also know Brandon claimed they were married at the time of her disappearance.”

Eric turned back to face them. “How do you know that?”

“We checked the student records at Washington University. Brandon took an extended leave of absence and the reason was the disappearance of his wife.” Dean spoke up. “Brandon and Melanie were married, but that marriage was one of convenience.”

Eyes going wide, Eric shook his head, “Convenience? I don’t understand.”

“Eric?”

He turned from Dean, focusing on Sam. “Yes?”

“There was someone else in Melanie’s life. Were you aware of that?”

Chewing on his lower lip Eric settled back in his chair, attention drifting to the stack of files on his desk. “I didn’t know for sure, but that night—the night she disappeared—I suspected it. To be honest I suspected it when she and Brandon came up from St. Louis the prior summer. I met Brandon then and it wasn’t pleasant in the least. Brandon was a jealous man. I was worried about her safety, especially after…“

“He propositioned you?”

All three men turned at Cissy’s question.

Eric’s frowned. “How did you know that? I never told anyone except…”

“She told me, Eric,” Cissy answered.

“Why would…?” Eric started and then a look of realization lit his eyes. “Oh, my God, it was you? Mel and you were…”

She nodded, pushing off the wall and moved across the room. “Eric, look I’m sorry I never told you about me and Mel, but she was scared.”

“Of what?” his voice rose as he stood, “Jesus fucking Christ, Cissy! I’m gay! Why would she be scared to tell me the truth?” Pulling his glasses from the top of his head, he tossed them with a clatter to the desk. “We were friends…best friends!”

Dean cleared his throat, interrupting Eric’s furious response. “She wasn’t scared of what you would think, Eric. She was scared of this god damn town.”

“How in the hell could you possibly know what she was…?” Eric stopped mid-rant, “Your eyes…“

Turning, Sam sucked in a deep breath as he realized what Eric had seen. Dean was smiling, a smile he’d seen before. Dean’s features seemed to blur around the edges as if a double exposure on film. Sam turned to glance at Cissy, throat tightening. 

“Cissy,” he growled. “You said she was gone.”

“I don’t…” Eric started again, voice tight with emotion, “this isn’t possible.”

“Eric, please,” Dean spoke, but it wasn’t his voice. “Don’t be frightened.”

Limbs trembling and face colorless, Eric stepped around the corner of his desk. “Mel?”

Eyes shining with an unreal clarity of color, Dean turned following Eric’s every movement, his lips softening. “Yes, Eric…it’s me.”

“No.” Eric shook his head, mesmerized by the familiar eyes watching him. “This can’t be real?” He pulled his gaze away from Dean, expression pained as he focused on Sam. “What is this? Who are you, people? Melanie was my best friend, I lost her, and now…” his hands fluttered through the air reminding Sam of a bird’s wings.

Cissy sighed. “Eric, this isn’t what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think.” He choked out, focus on Dean who continued to smile. “I don’t know what you people hope to accomplish with this—this charade. I trusted you. I helped you. Why would you do this to me? Is it about what happened in the bar?”

Sam looked him in the eye both ashamed and determined to make him understand, “No…it’s not. I’m sorry, Eric. I am. We should have told you the truth from the start. I should have, but would you have believed me?”

“Believed what?” Eric almost shrieked, expression wild with grief.

“We’re not FBI agents.”

Blinking Eric’s jaw dropped. “Not FBI agents? But the badges…”

“Fake,” Sam answered. “Dean and I…well we’re…” he glanced to where Dean stood, swaying and draped in the gauzy breath of a spirit that frightened him. “We’re brothers.”

“Brothers?” she asked.

Even though it was a single word, Sam knew it held a million questions. Cissy was a psychic like him, but she could discern the truth in a man’s aura. He wasn’t an expert in that field, but he’d read enough over the years to know she sensed the connection between them was not only a brotherly one. His cheeks flushed at the thought she could possibly know they had gone where society would never understand.

His eyes lowered to the floor, “Yes, brothers. We came here because of the ghost stories.”

This time Eric raised an eyebrow at Sam, “Ghost stories? You mean that crap the local teenagers have been whispering about since ” he stopped, eyes wide in realization. “You’re not screwing with me are you?” His attention returned to Dean, the mask of indifference dropping away to reveal raw grief. “Melanie, it’s really you.”

Dean nodded, “I never left, Eric. I’m so sorry I never told you about Cynthia. I need you to help them…help Dean.”

“Do what?” His breath hitched as he stepped closer.

Sam and Cissy watched as Dean moved towards Eric. He cupped Eric’s face in gentle hands. “I need you to remember my secret place.”

“Your secret place?” he croaked. “I don’t under…”

Dean leaned closer, smile secretive, the overlying image of Melanie’s spirit growing sharper with each breath he took. “The brownie, Eric…” her voice along with her ethereal form seemed to be pulling free from Dean’s physical body. His face twisted in pain, breathing growing ragged as she did.

As Sam started forward, he felt Cissy grip his arm tight, halting him. “What are you…?”

“Let it happen, Sam,” Cissy whispered. “She won’t harm him…not like the other.” Her gaze moved over the scene playing out before them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Sam tried to act confused.

“Yes, you do, Sam. Now it makes perfect sense why she chose him and not you. Your brother, Dean, he was…”

“I couldn’t tell you, Cissy. It was…”

“A secret… Like Mel and me?” The pain in her voice was something Sam understood far more than he would’ve imagined. “The demon that hurt him it was because of you, wasn’t it? It wanted you and it used him to get to you.”

Sam’s eyes filled with tears, “I didn’t understand why until after it took him. I couldn’t accept the truth.” He focused back on Dean as he screamed in pain.

“You’re in love with him.” It was a statement rather than a question and all Sam could do was nod as he tried to pull away, “He’s in love with you as well. He has been for a very long time, Sam.”

With one final scream, Melanie tore away from Dean’s body. An icy wind ripped through the office as she passed through Eric and his scream ripped through the room as Dean’s faded. Sam yanked from her grip as Dean began to sway. He was there in two steps catching Dean in his arms as his legs gave out. He lowered Dean to the floor, fingers carding through his hair. Glancing up he watched as Eric convulsed once and then twice, Melanie’s gossamer image sliding through him with a soft weeping.

Eric, remember the caves…

As she faded away Eric reached out, hand scrambling for support on the edge of the desk. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Sam cradling Dean in his arms. “I know.” He whispered. “I know where she is.”

***

“Where the hell is he going?” Sam demanded from the back seat of the Impala. He had no doubt, when Dean came around, he’d be so damn dead for letting Cissy drive the car. Of course, Cissy hadn’t given him a choice and she was one damn scary woman. “I said…”

Cissy caught his glance in the rearview mirror for a split second. “I heard you the first time, boy. From the looks of it, he’s heading to the Jenkins’ house.”

Looking down, Sam stroked his fingers through his brother’s hair. He had no idea what he was doing. Dean had always been the protector and now he found himself in that role. All he wanted was this to end, he wanted his brother back, and he had no idea how to fix it. He couldn’t change what had happened during their stay in Connecticut and to be honest he didn’t have a clue what to do about how he felt.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” He whispered.

Cissy glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror before focusing on Eric’s SUV again. “He’s drained, honey. That’s what happens when a spirit decides to use you, especially when you’re not touched. He isn’t like us, Sam. That’s why I couldn’t understand…” she paused taking a breath, “why Mel chose him instead of you.”

Just as Sam looked up, she maneuvered the Impala into a parking spot outside the Jenkins’ house. “How do you know that’s all that’s wrong?”

Shutting off the ignition, Cissy pulled the key out and shifted in the seat to face Sam, “Remember what I said about my mama having visions?” Sam nodded. “Well, some of those visions she gets when she shares her body with the spirits. She’s exhausted afterward. Scared the crap out of me the first time I saw it.”

He nodded, eyes lowering again to Dean’s pale face. “I can’t leave him alone.”

“I’ll stay here with him.” Cissy smiled an honest to God, “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Sam brushed one hand along his brother’s pale cheek as he slipped from beneath Dean, “Okay.” He agreed after a moment of thought, and then reached for the door handle. As he pushed the door open, he heard Cissy clear her throat. “What?”

“You need to tell him the truth, Sam.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She cleared her throat again. “Yes, you do and if you ever want to get past this wall between you…well he needs to know.”

Pushing the door open further, he slipped from the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He wasn’t sure if he were angrier with Cissy or himself for letting this continue. All he had to do was tell Dean the truth about what had happened back in Connecticut during his captivity.

How do you tell the one person you love more than life something like that?

“Sam?”

He looked up to see Eric studying him. “Yeah, come on let’s go see whatever we’re here to see.”

***

Paul Jenkins stood in the door scrubbing sleep from his eyes dressed in sweats and a terry cloth robe, which hung open. In the harsh brightness of the porch light, Sam saw Paul wasn’t as young as he’d thought at first and he wondered if the age lines around his eyes had been there before his daughter’s disappearance.

“Agent…?” he motioned his hand in confusion.

“Sam is fine, sir.” He offered an apologetic smile. “I know it’s late, but Eric thinks he might know about something that could help us find your daughter.”

Raising an eyebrow, Paul glanced at Eric. “What?”

From the darkened interior of the house, a feminine voice called out. “Who is it, Paul?”

Paul glanced over his shoulder and Sam caught a glimpse of a woman, dark hair pulled to the side in a braid. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was looking at Melanie. The dark hair, the soulful eyes as she approached the door, but then the light hit her face and Sam could see the sad desperation in the fine lines around her mouth and eyes. As their gazes met, Sam knew Cissy was right. He had to tell Dean the truth; he couldn’t lose him, not over this.

“Rachael, honey,” Paul pulled his wife close. “What are you doing up?”

She shook her head, brushing an errant strand from her blue eyes. “Who is this man, Paul?” She glanced at Sam. “Is this about Melanie?”

Paul lifted one hand, cupping his wife’s cheek, and drew her attention from Sam. “Sweetheart, you know what the doctor said. You need your rest.” He leaned in brushing a light kiss over her creased brow. “Now go back to bed and I’ll be up in a minute.”

Giving Sam one final glance with misty eyes she nodded, then disappeared back into the house, Paul watching as she went. “They say she has a few months at most.” He whispered. “A tumor, brain cancer…they caught it just a few weeks after Melanie disappeared.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins.”

Scrubbing his exhausted face with his palms Paul offered Sam and Eric a weak smile. “You know, Rachael was always a fireball. Right before Melanie…well, I should have known something was wrong.” He sighed and stepped back. “Come on in. You must be freezing out here.” Waving them into the hall, he headed back towards the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee and we can talk.”

Sam ushered Eric ahead of him, glancing over his shoulder at the Impala. His gaze met Cissy’s through the darkness as she leaned against the car, cigarette dangling from her fingertips, cherry glowing brightly. She offered him a nod and he turned back to where Paul Jenkins waited in the open door. Dean is going to be okay, he has to be.

***

“Yeah, I remember that old Brownie, but what I don’t get is what has this got to do with Melanie’s disappearance.” Paul pulled out a chair and settled down, pulling his mug of coffee towards him.

Eric sighed. “Look, I can’t really explain why, but I can tell you some of it, Paul. Mel always talked about this place that was like her get away spot before she went away to college, but she never showed me where it was.”

“Well, she never mentioned it to me.”

“Sir, please…Mel carried that camera everywhere. Do you still have that camera and the bag?”

Sam watched in silence as Paul stared into his mug, brow furrowed, and then he spoke up. “Mr. Jenkins we believe that there may be a clue in that camera bag.”

“Yes,” Paul whispered. “I couldn’t pack up her things and even if I had wanted to Rachael…”

“I do understand, Mr. Jenkins,” Sam replied, thoughts drifting to his brother.

Glancing up Paul offered a sad smile. “Please, call me Paul.”

“Paul.” Sam smiled back. “Can you help us out?” He leaned across the table meeting Paul’s eyes, “For your daughter…for your family and your wife?”

With a nod, Paul turned to Eric. “You know where her room is. Please feel free to take Sam upstairs. Just please use the back staircase so you won’t disturb Rachael.”

Standing, Eric squeezed Paul’s shoulder. “Thank you, Paul.”

Paul nodded, unshed tears in his eyes as Sam followed Eric to the back staircase. Whatever else happened, Sam swore to himself they would find Melanie and bring her home.

***

Sam wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this.

Melanie’s room was on the third floor, well it was the third floor, and it was obvious she’d had a deep love for photography and for the town she’d called home. Moving through the room Sam took in the multitude of photos that were hanging on the walls, some framed and matted, and others just stuck to the walls with colorful pins. A full-size platform bed sat beneath one large window, rice paper shade lowered against the dim starlight. A multitude of pillows in earth tones and a black and tan duvet covered the bed. The rest of the furniture was more modern and streamlined than Sam would have thought.

“Over here.”

He glanced up from the bookshelves where he’d been perusing the titles. “Yeah, what did you find?” Crossing the room, he leaned over Eric’s shoulder where he sat at the desk going through a heavy canvas camera bag.

“Mel’s brownie…There are some rolls of film here,” he held up a Ziploc bag, “I think this is what she was trying to tell me about.” He glanced up at Sam over the rim of his glasses. "I know she took off during her summer trip year before last.”

Sam’s fingers curling around the wrinkled plastic of the bag of film. "How do you know that?” He frowned thumb stroking over the film rolls beneath the plastic.

"Because Brandon didn’t just proposition me he came to my office twice. Once he propositioned me and a second time he accused me of hiding Mel from him.”

"Hide, Mel?" Eyebrows disappearing beneath his bangs, Sam shook his head. "So what do you think? Maybe Brandon found out where Melanie was hiding out, tracked her down and..." he swallowed hard, trying to push the lump down rising in his throat.

"God, no," Eric shook his head, “you wouldn’t even think that if you knew Brandon. He was an asshole, but he was no murderer. Brandon was more hot air than anything else. He knew what he was getting into when he married Mel. Actually, they had a written agreement notarized. After the marriage, Brandon decided he wanted more from Mel than she was willing to give. Their fighting was constant about it when they were here.

“Well, you’d be surprised what people are capable of. He gave the room a final glance, faint scent of lilac tickling his nose. “Let’s go get these photos developed.”

***

They’d driven to a Walgreen’s on the outskirts of town that had a one-hour photo lab. Eric went in alone, Sam and Cissy staying behind to watch over Dean who was still unconscious in the backseat. Sam was sitting on the passenger side, one knee crooked up on the seat, and Dean’s head resting on his lap. His eyes never left Dean’s face as his fingers stroked through his brother’s sweat-dampened hair.

“Maybe we should…” Sam started.

“No,” Cissy whispered. “Your brother has already been to the County hospital twice in the past few days. If he comes in once more, I guarantee those fools at the hospital will call the sheriff, not to mention Social Services.”

Sam glanced up, “Social Services? Why would they…?”

“Abusive relationship.” she shrugged her shoulders. “You’ve been the one that‘s brought him in both times and in this town, strangers are looked on as fodder for the gossip gristmill. They’ll be putting two and two together and getting five.”

“But we’re not…”

As she pulled her cigarettes out, Cissy snorted. “Sam, don’t lie. Don’t matter what I think. Both your auras show you got a deeper emotional connection than brothers normally have.”

Sam’s cheeks grew pink, although the shadows hid it. “We…well we didn’t exactly have what you would call a normal childhood.” His voice came out a raw whisper. “Moving around from place to place, never staying around long enough to make friends, and Dean…well he was all I knew.”

“Don’t have to explain.” She slipped a cigarette between her chapped lips, lighting the tip, light from the flame dancing across her face, “Ain’t my place to judge anyone. All I know is without you, he’ll die, same with you. If anything ever happened to either of you, the other would follow. That to me outshines any other relationship you may or may not have. I wouldn’t let Eric know, though. Tell that boy what you need to, Sam.” She exhaled a smudge of gray against the shadows.

“Eric?” Sam’s brows knitted together in a knot. “Why would I tell Eric anything?”

“Because you’re a slut, Sammy, and we both know it.”

Sam’s eyes lit up as Dean’s raw whisper reached his ears. “God, Dean, I was fucking scared out of my mind, man.”

Blinking, Dean offered Sam a smirk as he tried to sit up, one hand scrubbing at his face, “Where we at? And why am I in the backseat?”

“You passed out in Eric’s office.” Cissy leaned down elbow propped on the top of the doorframe. “And we’re at Walgreen’s.”

“Walgreen’s?” Dean frowned.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, seems that little stunt Mel pulled with you jogged Eric’s memory loose. Long story short, he thinks he knows where her body may be.”

“What in the snack food aisle of the local pharmacy?” Dean snorted.

Rolling his eyes, Sam sniffed. “And here I was worried about you, but apparently spirit possession doesn’t affect you that much.”

Dean groaned and leaned forward, forehead resting against the back of the seat. “Leave it up to me to let some psychotic, vengeance-minded spook waltz in and out at will.”

“Not your fault, Dean.” Cissy squatted down bracing herself against the dusty side of the Impala. “Mel was a stubborn bitch even when she was alive.” She took a drag off her cigarette, eyes focused on the night sky. “Still can’t believe she’s gone.”

Sam knew how she felt. Even now he couldn’t quite believe Jess was gone despite the fact he’d witnessed her death first hand. He reached out, one huge hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “I know.”

Her eyes lowered and met Sam’s as she offered him a lop-sided smile, tears in her lashes. “I do believe you do.”

Before she had a chance to say more and Sam was sure she’d been on the verge of doing so, his phone rang. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it free and flipped it open, “Yeah.”

“It’s me.” A woman’s voice drifted over the line.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sam hissed into the phone.

Dean frowned. “Who is it?”

Shaking his head, Sam slipped from the car and past Cissy, walking a few feet away. “I could have used your help…”

“Then listen to me very careful, Sam.”

“I’m listening.”

“The cavern you’re looking for is three hundred feet below the lighthouse.”

“How in the hell do you know that?” He began pacing back and forth, oblivious to the fact Dean and Cissy were both staring at him. “On second thought…I don’t want to know.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you, Sam. Her body is in the back of cavern beneath a cairn of stone.”

Sam ran one hand through his hair. “God…she was…”

“I know.”

“I can't ask him to go back into another cavern.”

Her voice held a hint of sadness when she answered him. “He has to face what happened, Sam. And you have to tell him the truth, the truth you’ve been keeping from him for six months.”

“Damn it, I know that.”

“Then what's the problem?”

Sam threw his head back, eyes drifting shut. “You damn well know what the problem is, Bronwen.”

“What I know is that both of you are stubborn fools. There are no shades of gray in this situation just black or white. He has to face the…”

“Don't.” Sam hissed through gritted teeth. “Don't say it.”

“How do you expect anything to change when you can’t even say it? Dean was tortured and raped by Ingley, then left for dead in that damn cave.” Frustration was evident in her tone. “That's why she's attached herself to him. They've both suffered enough, don’t you think?'

Head dropping forward, his eyes shadowed, Sam snarled. “Yes, he’s suffered enough and so has she.”

“Then go to the sheriff. Tell him where she is.”

“I can't.”

“Why in the hell not? He'll help you.”

“I don't trust him. Hell, I don't trust anyone in this damn town. This was supposed to be a quick job, not this cluster fuck.”

Her laughter was bitter. “Tell me about it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to fucking mean, Bronwen?”

“Just go, Sam.”

The line went dead and Sam cursed beneath his breath. She had been a pain in the fucking ass since he'd met her outside Bara-Hack and she was still a pain in the ass. Hitting her number, he called back. To be frankly honest he didn't have the patience for her games right now. He needed to know how in the hell she knew where Melanie's body was. The line rang once, twice, and on the third ring, an automated voice answered.

“The Verizon customer you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please check the number and try again later.”

“Son of a bitch!” Sam screamed flipping his phone shut. “I’m starting to really hate this fucking town.”

“Jeez, Sammy, when did you start cursing like a sailor?”

He looked up to see Dean giving him the one Dad had always given them when they cursed as kids. He released a soft breath and chuckled. “Forget about my language, man. You should be resting.”

Dean frowned, his eyes glittering with annoyance, “Enough, Sam. Between you and Cissy the wonder psychic, I'm ready to pull myself bald. We don’t have time for this shit. Mel isn't pleased with me anyway and the last thing I need is that annoying spook infesting my body again. So who was on the phone?”

“Bronwen and as usual she was…”

“All mysterious?” Dean quirked one eyebrow, “I'm starting to think that's a natural state of being for all you freaks, dude.”

Sam's brows shot up. “I am not mysterious, Dean.”

Shrugging, Dean turned back to the car. “I notice you didn't complain about the freak label.”

With a loud snort, Sam headed towards the store. “I'm going to find out what's taking Eric so damn long.”

***

Half an hour later, they were standing between the two cars, and going through the prints from the film that Sam and Eric had found in Mel's camera bag. Most of them were of buildings and landscapes around Hannibal, downtown, the riverfront, etc. Nothing of much interest, there were even a few photos of family and what Sam assumed were friends.

“So what did Bronwen say to you?”

Sam looked up from the photos at Dean who was sitting inside the car, flipping through another stack, “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Sam. That woman doesn't waste breath and you’re the world’s worst liar.” Dean gave him a sidelong glance.

“What woman?” Eric questioned from where he sat on the hood of his SUV.

“Someone we met a few months back in Connecticut,” Sam answered without looking up. “She thinks or rather she claims she knows where Mel's body is.”

Eric slid from the hood of the SUV, boots hitting the asphalt with a dull thud. “Excuse me? And when were you planning on telling us this?”

Glancing up, Sam bit down on his lip as his eyes met Eric's furious expression. “There's no way she knows unless she's been spelunking down the cliff behind the lighthouse.”

“Wait…” Cissy spoke up, “the cliff behind the lighthouse?”

“Yeah,” Sam turned to face her. “Does that mean something to you?”

Cissy shook her head in disbelief. “Dear Lord, why didn't I think of that?”

“What?” Dean glanced up from the useless stack of photos clutched in his hand.

“Mel used to spend a great deal of time down in the cove right there beneath the lighthouse. I asked her how she discovered the cove and she said that…” her eyes grew wide, the photos slipping from her fingers.

“Cissy, what the hell is it?” Eric moved towards her.

“There was a nature walk she went on when she was fifteen.” Her voice was tight with anger. “It was a church sponsored thing during the summer. She wandered off and got lost…”

“Shit.” Sam hissed.

Dean stood and walked around the front of the Impala. “Is someone going to let me in on what is going on?”

“I agree with Dean here,” Eric spoke up. “Is there something you guys know that you aren't sharing? Because I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“We need to go back to the church.” Cissy squatted down and retrieved the photos that she'd dropped. “That's the only way we can be sure.” Straightening up, she headed around Eric's SUV and opened the passenger door, pausing long enough to glance at the three men staring at her. “Come on you fools…times a wastin'.”

***

The church was silent and somewhat foreboding or so Sam thought as he pulled the Impala into the parking lot, the golden glow of the headlights sweeping along the wall. He'd nearly had to wrestle Dean for the keys, but finally, Dean had given in. Seconds later, Eric's SUV pulled in next to them, and they both shut off their lights simultaneously. Staring out the window Sam wondered if by some twisted chance of fate they were wrong. It was possible that more people knew about the cave that was supposedly in the cove.

“Sam, what's going on?”

“What do you mean?” He turned, glancing at Dean.

Dean lifted his head and met Sam's gaze with confused eyes. “You were going to tell me something earlier, but you were interrupted by Cissy. And you were pissed when you got off the phone with Bronwen. Is this about Bara-Hack?”

Sighing, Sam ran a hand over his face. “Yes and no…I don't know, Dean.” He watched as Dean drummed his fingers against the worn denim stretched over his thigh and he remembered touching his brother there, feeling the fine feathery blonde hair tickle his palm. “That's crap. I'm full of crap, man.”

“You just figured that out, dude?” Dean smiled. “I've known you were full of shit since you were three years old.”

Sam shook his head, hysterical laughter exploding from his throat. The look on Dean's face only caused the laughter to grow until his vision blurred and he could feel hot tears trailing down his face to drop off the tip of his nose and chin. This has been coming for six months, some distant corner of Sam's mind thought, balancing on this razor sharp cliff of insanity. Then he was pulled forward, Dean's arms encircling him, and holding him as they did years ago when he was just a child.

“Sam? Sammy? Come on bro' get a grip.” Dean whispered softly in his ear. “It's okay…I'm okay. I swear, Sammy.”

Lifting his head, he realized that he’d curled up in a tight ball, at least as tight as a six-foot-four-inch man could be. Dean's hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking over his wet cheeks, slick with salty tears. “I know what happened.” He managed to choke out between hiccupping laughter and desperate breaths. “I know what he did to you.”

Dean chuckled, a self-deprecating sound within the silent confines of the car. “I suppose you do to some extent. I'm sure the doctors told you.”

“No,” Sam whispered, his breath catching, “…you don't understand, Dean. I…I know like in a biblical way.”

Eyebrows rising in confusion Dean pulled back, his hands slipping from Sam's face. When he finally spoke his voice was rough, the emotion raw and desperate. This was what Sam had feared, what he'd had too damn many nightmares about over the years.

“What?”

“Dean, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.”

Shaking his head, Dean pushed the car door open. “We're not going to talk about this.” He turned away, his feet hitting the gravel outside the car, and his shoulders stiffened. “Not now. Maybe not ever.” He stood and walked away leaving Sam silent and terrified that he'd destroyed what little connection he'd forged with his brother with just a handful of careless words.

***

Silence and shadows filled the cavernous sanctuary of the church as they entered, the sound of their steps echoing through the room and up bouncing along the beams of the vaulted ceiling. Ahead of them was the main altar, candles flickering, and the twisted image of Christ looking down on them with forgiving eyes filled with agonizing pain. Sam's chest tightened as he recalled the first time they'd stayed with Pastor Jim. He'd only been five years old and he'd never been in a church before, but he was curious. Dad had never spoken of God and sometimes Sam had thought that maybe their mother's death had destroyed his faith in a higher power. However, just when he'd decided that there was no faith in his father's eyes he would catch his father praying in the middle of the night when he thought Sam and Dean were sleeping or he would see a light in his eyes as he drilled them with the Latin prayers and spells to banish evil.

“Are you okay?”

He tore his eyes from the face of the Christ and turned to Cissy. “Yeah, I'm fine.” His gaze flicked back to the figure that seemed to compel him closer.

“You fear that what your brother and you are feeling is unforgivable.” Her words were soft, barely discernable to his ears.

Sam turned away from the steady eyes of the figure and focused on Cissy's understanding gaze. “I…maybe. I honestly don't know.”

She studied him for a moment with a fathomless gaze. “Law upon this earth is the law of man. I believe there are things we have sought to explain for thousands of years. In our ignorance, we have created excuses for hatred, and then we wonder why our world is being torn asunder.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sam questioned, his voice low almost a hiss of air.

“Because,” she smiled, “…as the Bible says 'judge not least ye be judged' that is the truth of a power higher than anything we can explain.”

Without another word, she turned and followed Eric and Dean deeper into the church's sanctuary, leaving Sam to wonder if she was right. If there was a God was he looking down at him with loving eyes? On the other hand, was he looking down with disapproval? Preparing a one-way ticket for both he and Dean to whatever level of hell incestuous brothers went. Shaking off all the thoughts of God, sin, and hell, he hurried after the others hoping God was loving and not vengeful after all.

***

Dean kept one eye on Sam as Cissy led them back along the narrow hall to a door that led down a narrow flight of stairs into the finished basement of the church. He was worried not just that Mel’s spirit, which by the way was whispering in his head, would decide to pop back in for a quick visit, but he was also worried about Sam. He knew Sam wanted to confess something, although god only knew what that confession was. No matter how much he wanted to set his brother down and talk to him, the job had to come first.

“Here we go.”

He glanced up to see Cissy holding up a backpack, another one at her feet. “Climbing gear.”

Quirking one brow, Dean sighed. “What the hell is climbing gear doing in the basement of a church?”

“Church sponsored events; camping, rock-climbing…you know that kind of stuff for the kids.”

Sam stepped forward, helping Eric and Cissy collect the equipment as Dean watched with narrowed eyes. Rock climbing, Dean thought, wasn’t something he really wanted to do, but Mel’s insistent whisper in his ear coupled by Bronwen Ingley’s recent call didn’t really give him a choice in the matter. He’d never told Sam that he remembered every moment in that cavern beneath Bara-Hack. Honestly, he preferred that Sam not know. So for the past six months, he’d tried to avoid enclosed dark spaces and any discussion about his time in the darkness. Maybe Sam was right, maybe it would be better if he talked about it, but he just couldn’t---that wasn’t Dean Winchester’s thing.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, pushing down the fear that was threatening to overwhelm him. Inside he silently repeated the mantra that had helped him through his worse moments back in Connecticut. John’s voice was strong inside his head repeating the words ‘Suck it up soldier. Use the anger, the pain, and turn it into your strength.’ and that strength was comforting.

Stepping forward Dean snatched the final bag, his eyes sharp and cold. “Let’s get the show on the road.” Shifting the bag over his shoulder, he turned and headed up the stairs leaving the others staring at his back.

The trip up to the lighthouse was a silent one. Sam wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but this wasn’t the time to ask. Seeing the determination in his brother’s eyes made his heart leap with a joy he’d not felt since before Connecticut. For six months, Dean had been on a path of self-destruction that had scared the hell out of Sam. Now, even though that fear still lingered, he knew Dean was trying to get past it, and his heart ached. He wanted to reach out, to take Dean in his arms tell him that he was loved, but that wasn’t how Winchesters did things. It was that need for touch, for comfort, to vent that had made Sam an outcast in his own family. He never understood when he was younger, now though he’d realized that what he represented was what they’d all lost---Mary. He was his mother’s son far more than he was his father’s and he wanted more than that. He wanted his father to look at him with the same pride and love that he’d seen him look at Dean with when they were children.

As the car came to a stop, Sam swallowed back the same fear he knew was rising in Dean. “Dean, I know this is got to be…”

Dean’s gaze never left the windshield as he shut off the engine, one hand gripping the steering wheel and his fingers flexing. “Dude, just don’t.” His voice was barely audible when he spoke. “I have to do this for Melanie.”

Pushing open the door, Dean slid from the car and closed the door behind him. Sam could see the tension in his brother’s shoulders and if Dean would have met his eyes, Sam was damned sure he would have seen fear in them. However, never let it be said that Dean Winchester willing showed fear, at least the Dean Winchester Sam had known before Bara-Hack. He silently watched as Dean opened the passenger door and pulled out the bag of climbing equipment, and then closed it, the loud clang echoing in Sam’s ears.

“Not just for her, Dean,” Sam whispered as he watched Dean walk away. “It’s for you, too.”

***

The wind had picked up between the time they’d left the cars and managed to get to the top of the stairs that led to the lighthouse. Sam stared up at its towering white walls a shiver creeping up his spine as he thought of the last time they’d been here. His gaze drifted to the door and he noted that someone had replaced the broken lock, the lock that Mel had used him to break. It was the only time that she’d dared to possess him and it was the last time he’d ever let her.

It was going to end tonight, one way or another.

***

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

Dean turned and gave Eric a sidelong glance. “You don’t have to do it if you’re scared.” He hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but from the expression on Eric’s face, that was exactly how he’d taken it.

Turning away, Eric picked up one of the safety harnesses and started strapping himself in. “I’m not scared. Besides this is Mel we’re talking about. If she’s down there I owe it to her and her family to bring her home.” He yanked one of the straps tight, grunting softly.

Honestly, Dean thought, he could have kicked himself. Sam was used to him, but Eric wasn’t and a part of him was still angry. Angry that this man had been the one that Sam had turned to when all they both wanted was one another. A frown creased his brow as he finally finished strapping himself into the safety harness. This was the first time since they’d been together that Dean had admitted that this was what he wanted. He didn’t want to think of Sam with anyone else and as those thoughts drifted through his mind, he glanced up to see his brother looking at him. He offered Sam a hesitant smile, then took a deep breath as Sam started towards him. He glanced away, a shiver traveling through him.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was soft and his touch was even softer as his hand settled on Dean’s shoulder. “You really don’t have anything to prove. I’ll understand if you don’t…”

Shaking his head, Dean glanced up meeting Sam’s gaze. “I do have something to prove, man. Not to you, but to myself. You were right, Sammy.” His throat tightened. “I can’t keep up at the rate I’ve been going or that fucker will get what he wanted. I’ve been lucky…way too damn lucky…and luck will only get you so far.”

Sam nodded, his fingers tightening in a gentle squeeze on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.” He whispered. “Now let’s get going.” He smiled gently and turned away, heading for the cliff.

Taking a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes, his face turning upward to the night sky. Slowly he released the breath, the corners of his lips tilting in a cock-eyed grin. His eyes drifted open, focusing on the gathering storm clouds, and he lowered his gaze to where the others waited.

“Fuck you, Ingley.” He whispered, and then headed to where Sam waited, a proud smile shining in the gathering storm.

***

The descent over the cliff edge could have been a perilous one, but something or someone seemed to be watching over the three men as they lowered themselves down the craggy limestone wall. Cissy had agreed to stay behind and she’d insisted on calling Deputy Barnhart, explaining that if they were right, then the cavern that they were searching for was a crime scene. Dean wasn’t happy about that, but he had to concede that she was right. No matter what, justice had to be served, if not for Mel at least for her family.

They were nearly halfway down the cliff when Dean heard the whisper in his ear. It was faint at first and then it grew. He took a deep breath, his gloved hands clinging desperately to the rope, his feet braced against the cliff. “Mel?” He whispered.

Look to your left…

Turning his head, he lifted the spotlight from his belt where it hung, the bright light playing across the limestone giving it a ghostly glow. “Left…” Dean mumbled.

“Dean, what is it?” Sam frowned, his own spotlight joining Dean’s.

Eric shifted in his harness, eyes wide behind his glasses, bits of limestone crumbling beneath his boots. “What’s going on?”

Lifting one hand, Sam waved him silent. Both of them watched, dangling precariously from the cliff, as Dean cocked his head to the side. Sam knew that somehow Dean was listening to a voice, Melanie’s voice that only he could hear, but it didn’t make the knot forming in his stomach any easier to take.

Suddenly, Dean began lowering himself down. “There!” He yelled as he swung himself out and over, the muscles flexing in his thighs.

Sam nodded and signaled Eric to follow as he swung out. Eyes locked on Dean, he whispered a silent prayer beneath his breath. Wherever Mel was leading Dean he wasn’t about to let him go alone. Dean had to do this, Sam realized that, but no matter what he thought, he didn’t have to do it alone.

Dropping another twenty feet or so, Dean settled on a wide lip of rock that jutted out from the cliff. Feet steady beneath him; he released the hooks on the safety harness, oblivious to both Sam and Eric as they followed his lead. Melanie’s voice was a constant soft whisper as he moved cautiously along the lip and towards the opening of the cave that only he’d seen.

Yes…

The opening was no more than five and a half feet tall and maybe three feet wide. How anyone could have managed to get a body through it without notice was beyond Dean, but they had. With one trembling hand, he lifted the spotlight and leaned in, bracing himself against the cliff’s face, aiming the spotlight into the endless darkness.

Here…

“I know,” Dean whispered the stench of death and betrayal strong in the shadows. “He’ll pay…I swear to you…he’ll pay.”

As he vanished into the darkness, the scent of lilac and a soft sigh filled the darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Eric was nervous to the point of breaking as he entered behind Sam into the cavern. He’d loved Mel like a sister, his best friend in the entire world, but now he was here—inside the cave—he wasn’t sure if he could bear to find her. She’d vanished a year ago and whatever remained of her earthly body would be very little. He didn’t begrudge these two men their work and honestly, now he understood that glimmer he’d seen in Sam’s eyes back in the bar. He couldn’t quite place the look until now. If this was what they did on a regular basis, he understood the sadness that had been visible for just a split second in Sam’s eyes.

“You okay, Eric?”

He glanced up Sam looking at him with a worried expression, face swathed in shadow and streaks of gold light. “You’re not really brothers are you?” Eric whispered.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“You and Dean.” Eric lowered his eyes to the cavern floor. “You’re not really brothers.”

“Of course we…” Sam started, but Eric lifted a hand.

“The other night when we met in the bar…it was him you were thinking about.” Eric studied him with narrow eyes. “It’s okay. I get it. He’s…” his words trailed off as he stared past Sam at the distant light Dean carried. “He’s gorgeous, smart, and you share this…” he waved one hand through the air, “…this darkness. It must be difficult to find someone strong enough to face what you face every day.”

Sam sighed, glancing over his shoulder as Dean turned around to give him a questioning look. “You’re right.” He whispered, hoping Dean couldn’t hear. “I love him very much, sometimes more than I should.”

Stepping around Sam, Eric squeezed his shoulder. “There is no such thing as loving someone too much. Just make sure he knows how much you care, Sam. Make sure he knows before it’s too late.”

***

As they moved in silence through the cavern, it opened up, winding through the darkness ahead of them like more than one road Sam had seen. His thoughts were on what Eric had said. He was right about how Sam felt about Dean, although if he’d known the truth of their relationship perhaps he wouldn’t have been as understanding.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam nearly ran into Dean when he came to halt. He glanced up, taking a step around his brother and his breath caught in his throat. What had been a narrow twisting path heading deep into the earth had bloomed into an open cavern, quartz crystals sparkling in the walls as the beam of their spotlights traveled across its surface. 

“Holy shit…” Sam whispered beneath his breath as he turned to Eric. “Did you know about this place?”

Eric shook his head. “I didn’t have a clue.”

Slowly Dean moved forward as if in a trance and Sam reached out to halt him. He turned looking at Sam with eyes trapped somewhere between blue and green. “She’s here.” His words came out raspy as if he’d been screaming. 

Lifting the spotlight in his hand, the beam skimmed across what Sam had believed was the floor of the cavern, but was water instead. Stepping further into the cave, Sam’s eyes took in the muddy water, the surface still as death. His gaze drifted upward and he saw what Bronwen had told him he would; three hundred feet down the cliff, a cavern, buried beneath a cairn of stone. 

“What is that?” Eric choked out, somehow knowing even as he spoke.

Dean turned and met Eric’s grief-stricken gaze with sapphire eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eric…please forgive me for leaving you. I should have trusted you.”

Blinking back tears, Eric laughed the sound on the edge of hysteria. “This can’t be real…that’s what I keep telling myself, but it is—isn’t it.” His eyes shifted from Dean to the neatly piled stones. “This is where he took you.”

“Eric…” Sam’s voice echoed over the water. “You don’t have to do this.”

Eric laughed again, voice thick with tears. “No, you’re wrong, Sam.” He turned back to Dean and watched as his eyes bled from blue to mossy green. “I do…for her.” Stepping out into the water he carefully waded towards the stone cairn, inch-by-inch, Sam and Dean moving in tandem behind him. 

***

By the time they’d reached the cairn all of them were soaked to the waist or damn close. The water, from what Sam could tell, was flowing through an opening in the far wall of the cave, straight from the Mississippi, and from the stains along the walls the water level more than likely rose and fell with the river’s level. As he stepped closer he could see some of the stones had been disturbed, possibly swallowed by the rising water.

Sam reached out as he knelt, the faint scent of decay and death tickling his nose, as his fingertips grazed the cold damp stone. “Browen was right, but how in the hell did she know?” He turned glancing up at Eric and Dean. “She’s a guardian, but her guardianship is in Bara-Hack.”

Face pale in the light of Sam’s spotlight, Eric swallowed hard. “She really is gone—isn’t she?”

“Yeah, ” Sam wiped his hand on his jeans. “Let’s get started.” He gave Eric another glance. “Eric…”

Eric smiled at Sam, naked grief in his expression. “I’m okay.”

Reaching out Dean settled one hand on Eric’s shoulder. “She loved you and she never blamed you for any of this.”

“I know.” Eric’s eyes closed as he took a ragged breath. “I do.” Then he stepped closer, shaking hands curling around the first stone.

*** 

Slowly but surely they worked their way through the stones one by one in silence. There was a hint of ozone in the air as if before a storm, but somehow Sam knew it was a sign Mel was there watching and waiting. What she was waiting for, though, he wasn’t sure. 

As the stone cairn opened up the faint odor of decay that had been present earlier became thicker and Dean gave Sam a sidelong glance. Clearing his throat, Sam turned to where Eric knelt, his hands trembling and tears streaking his face as he lifted another stone, tossing it to the side. He glanced back at his brother and Dean nodded. Sam stood up stepping around to grab Eric’s arm and Eric glanced up, a hiccup ghosting past his lips.

“What?”

Sam pulled Eric to his feet. “You don’t need to see this.”

“No!” Eric snapped. “I can do this!”

“No, you can’t, Eric.” Sam stood his ground. “This is our job now. Let us spare you from seeing her like this.”

Eric stood for a moment his jaw working as if he weren’t sure what to say or to do. Finally, a faint breath ghosted past his lips and he ran his palms over his face, pushing his glasses back and grinding his hands into his eye sockets. “Okay.” His hands dropped and then his gaze met Sam’s. “Just…please take good care of her.”

“We will.” Sam nodded his voice tight with emotion. “Now go back up and see if Deputy Barnhart and the Sheriff have arrived.”

With a quick nod, Eric turned and headed back the way they’d came. Sam stood there for a moment until Eric’s spotlight vanished into the shadows and then he turned back to Dean only to meet Melanie’s eyes staring back from his brother’s face. “Damn it, Mel…get the hell out of my brother.”

Dean cocked his head in a very un-Dean-like manner. “Thank you.” Mel’s voice whispered from between Dean’s parted lips. “Thank you for sparing Eric this horror.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam swallowed hard. “Now let him go.”

With a considering expression, Dean turned towards the crumbling cairn. “There is one more thing you have to do.”

“What?”

“Remember the necklace.”

Frowning Sam glanced at the cairn and then back into Dean’s surreal eyes. “The necklace in the lighthouse? That was where you were raped.”

“Yes. He wanted to talk that’s what he said. I trusted him.” Dean’s eyes welled up, tears shimmering in his lashes. “I trusted him because of the necklace…the necklace he wore.”

“What necklace, Mel?”

Her voice became a weary sigh. “Just like mine in the lighthouse, his is hidden there.” Dean turned and pointed at the cairn. “He never knew where it went…”

As that final word slipped past Dean’s lips, he swayed, and his eyes shifted from Mel’s eerie blue back to their natural shade. “Shit…I hope that’s the last time.” Dean moaned as Sam grabbed an arm to steady him. “I can’t take much more of this shit.” 

***

The rocks were soon cleared away, although it had taken them another twenty minutes. Beneath them, they’d found a rotting blanket and the stench of decay made Sam’s stomach twist in a knot. Lifting one arm to cover his mouth and nose, he moved the spotlight over the surface of the blanket. Whatever lay beneath had shifted within the confines of the blanket. A sudden image of a terrified Mel slowly suffocating beneath stone flickered through his mind and he had to fight to keep the gorge from rising into his mouth.

“Sammy? You okay, dude?”

Blinking, Sam turned to Dean. “Yeah, I’m just…I was just thinking about what Bronwen said.”

Dean cocked one brow at him, his voice holding an edge of curiosity. “And what did that witch tell you?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know.” Sam coughed trying to rid the taste of decay and death from his throat. “What was it like for her…trapped under those stones…slowly…” his voice cracked.

“Sam, don’t do that. There’s nothing we can do but make that bastard pay now. Once she has justice she’ll be able to move on.” Dean cleared his throat as he reached down pulling his knife from his boot. “That’s what this has all been about…not vengeance…justice.” Carefully he used the razor-sharp blade to cut through the blanket.

Watching Dean’s movements with wet eyes, Sam sighed. Dean was right. Melanie was dead and all they could do now was give her justice and she and her family peace at last. As Dean finished slicing through the blanket, Sam reached out and slowly peeled the blanket back with gloved hands. Beneath the swaddling of the blanket lay Melanie’s earthly remains. Bits of decaying flesh and strands of dark hair still clung to her skull, empty eye sockets staring upward. Melanie lay twisted on her side, the rotting remnants of her dress clinging to the skeletal remains of her body, and her bony knees drawn up against her chest. Her hands were close to her chest, the bony fingers curled like claws and despite the dampness of the blanket, Sam could still see the bloody claw marks where Melanie had tried to claw her way from her tomb.

“Sammy?”

He swallowed hard at Dean’s soft questioning tone. No matter how hard he tried, Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way her mouth was twisted in an eternal scream. He could almost hear her final dying screams echoing off the walls of her tomb. 

“Sammy, help me out here. She’s got something clutched in her fist.”

Blinking rapidly, Sam swallowed again. “She said that he wore a necklace.” He reached out carefully pulling back her fingers one at a time.

Dean frowned. “A necklace he never knew what happened to like hers.”

As Sam pulled back the final finger, Dean reached out his fingers curling around a tarnished chain and lifted the object up. Despite the tarnished surface, the silver still sparkled in the glow of their spotlights.

“Holy shit…” Sam whispered, “…is that what I think it is?”

Eyes narrowing, Dean growled in the back of his throat, snapping the chain and its burden up and into his palm. “Son of a bitch.” Then he was on his feet and heading across the water, Sam on his heels.

***

“Look, Paul I don’t rightly know what the deal is, but Cissy here gave me a call. Claims them FBI boys figured out something about Melanie.” Deputy Barnhart tugged his hat down more firmly with one hand, the other flipping the butt of his cigarette into the dancing shadows.

Paul Jenkins ran one trembling hand through his hair, the wind catching the graying blonde strands and twisting them around his grief-stricken face. “I talked to Officer Reynolds down there.” He swung out one arm, a finger aimed down to the parking lot below where a multitude of emergency vehicles stood by, their lights flashing amber and sapphire in the darkness. “He said something about you discovering something months ago. Why in the hell didn’t you let us know, Leonard?!”

“We found her, Paul.”

He turned meeting Eric’s gaze, dirt streaking his face, and his pants clinging to him, heavy with water. Paul’s gaze traveled down and then back up to meet Eric’s bloodshot eyes once more. “I don’t understand. What the hell do you mean you found her?”

“She’s…god, she’s dead, Paul.” Eric choked out through dry lips.

“Melanie, ” Paul whispered. “My baby girl…she’s…how do you know?”

“We found her body.” Eric began sobbing. “Down the cliff about three hundred feet there’s a cave and we found…”

Paul shook his head in vehement denial. “No…she can’t be.”

***

As they reached the mouth of the cave, Dean grabbed his rope, shoving the chain into his jacket pocket, and began hooking the clasps into place on his safety harness. Sam came stumbling nearly bent in half through the cavern’s mouth, his eyes darting to where Dean was already tugging on the rope to signal Cissy and Eric.

“Damn it, Dean! Slow down!” He yelled over the rising wind that battered the cliff, catching his hair and blinding him for a moment. Pushing his bangs from his face, Sam reached for his rope with the other hand and began hooking his safety harness up. “Tell me what the hell it means.”

As Dean worked his way to the ledge, he glanced over his shoulder towards Sam. “You said it down there, Sammy.”

“What the hell did I say?”

With a grimace, Dean yelled two words over the wind as he pushed off from the ledge. “Holy shit!”

A frown marred his brow as he followed Dean’s lead. He was a third of the way up the cliff side when it hit him what the hell Dean had meant. Sam cursed under his breath as he began pushing himself harder, trying to catch up with Dean who was about fifty feet ahead of him. If Cissy had called the cops as she’d said she was going to do, he had no doubt that Paul Jenkins would’ve more than likely been called. If Paul had been called, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind who would be just behind. 

He had to get up there before Dean did.

***

“I could use some help here, Leonard!” Cissy called out from her spot at the edge of the cliff. “They’re both heading up.”

Deputy Barnhart glanced over his shoulder and cursed. “God damn it! Reynolds, Carlisle, get your worthless asses over here!”

Two muscled officers separated from the crowd that had gathered around the lighthouse and followed Barnhart to where Cissy was checking to make sure the ropes were secure. She glanced over the edge to where the two ropes swayed, each one holding the shadowed figure of one of the brothers. If she didn’t know better, it looked like Sam was racing to catch up with Dean who was already two-thirds of the way up the cliff. 

“Let’s get them boys up here so we can clear this up and find out what the fuck is goin’ on!” Pulling out a pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket, Barnhart pulled them on and grabbed the rope that Dean was harnessed too.

The other two took Sam’s rope and they began pulling in unison. Above them, the clouds boiled in a writhing mass and lightening tore open their swollen bellies, bathing the entire landscape in silver light. Seconds later, thunder rumbled through the air the faint scent of ozone filling the cold air as the clouds released their burden. Rain began pouring down and Cissy stepped back from the cliff’s edge. Tugging her jacket tighter around her, she glanced over her shoulder to where Paul Jenkins stood, huddled beneath the overhang of the lighthouse’s entrance with Pastor McAbee who seemed to be trying to console him. A shiver traveled down her spine as the rain began to fall harder, lightning ripping the sky open every few seconds. She kept thinking about the glimpse of Dean’s face she’d caught in that first flash of lightning. He’d looked furious, but why she couldn’t imagine, unless---

“Oh, my God…” she swore beneath her breath. Glancing back towards the cliff she saw Dean’s head appeared and Barnhart grabbed his hand, helping him over the edge. “They found something down there besides Mel’s body.”

As she started to step forward, Dean got to his feet, releasing the clasps from his harness, and he shook his head at something Barnhart said. He pushed past the older man and headed towards her with a fire burning in his eyes. She opened her mouth to call out, but he brushed past her and headed towards the crowd at the entrance of the lighthouse.

***

“You son of a bitch!”

Paul turned at Dean’s voice loud and furious over the storm. “Excuse me?” His eyes widened at the image before him.

Covered in mud, his hair standing on end, Dean stood his ground, a fury in his eyes that burned brighter than anything Paul had ever seen. As he spoke, Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Not you, Paul! That bastard!” Lifting one trembling hand, he pointed at the man standing at Paul’s side.

With a shocked expression, Paul turned meeting Pastor McAbee’s eyes, his lips twisted in confusion. “What the hell is he talking about, Daniel?”

“I don’t have the faintest …”

Growling low in his throat, Dean stalked closer, the gathered people parting like the Red Sea around his advancing body. “Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare! All I want to know is why? Why do it?!”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “Do what?”

“Fucker!” Dean screamed as he launched himself at the pastor.

A gasp escaped Daniel McAbee as Dean knocked him to the ground, all the air escaping from his lungs. Dean’s fists began pounding at him as he tried to shield himself, but there was no escaping the brutality of the attack. Punch after punch rained down on him, blood spurting from his freshly broken nose, as Paul Jenkins tried to pull Dean away from him. Dean was having none of it and he lashed out at Paul without looking, knocking Paul for a loop.

“She fucking trusted you! She believed she was safe with you!” His fists continued leaving split skin and quickly bruising flesh behind in their wake. “Why?!” Dean howled an animalistic sound that caused the entire crowd to shiver. “Was it because you wanted her? Couldn’t have her? Or was it because she was gay?! Yeah, I bet that was why you raped her, left her to die in that fucking cave!”

“Dean!” Sam screamed, grabbing one of Dean’s wrists.

Dean didn’t even hear him and only shrugged his grip off, pumped full of anger and adrenaline all he saw was Ingley. His fists continuing their onslaught as he screamed louder. “You raped her! You sick son of a bitch!!”

By now, Barnhart had heard the commotion and was pushing his way through the crowd. “What the fuck all is going on here?!”

Turning Sam swallowed hard one hand settling against Barnhart‘s shoulder. “I’ll explain, but I have to get my brother off him. Please just trust me.” Kneeling down next to Dean, he tried to bodily pull his brother off Daniel, but it wasn’t working. He’d never seen Dean so furious before not even when they’d fought in Jericho. “Dean! Dean stop it! You’re killing him!”

That seemed to catch Dean’s attention and he turned towards Sam, his face streaked with angry tears, and flushed even in the chill air. His eyes were distant when he spoke, his bloody fists clenching and unclenching in time with his heartbeat. “He…” his voice was tight and raw from screaming, “…he did this…he raped me.” A ragged sob tore from his throat. “He raped me, Sammy.”

Reaching out, Sam cupped Dean’s face in his hands; one thumb caressed his cheek wiping away the tears. “No…not him, Dean. Ingley hurt you not Daniel.”

Dean shook his head still straddling Daniel’s shaking body, the rain beating down on them in a sheet of ice. “No…” he whispered, “…he did. You don’t understand.”

“I do, Dean.” He coaxed Dean closer, pressing his forehead against his. “I never told you, but Ingley used my own power against me. He made me feel everything he did to you.” He whispered as Dean began to tremble. “I know everything he did. I suffered through every blow, every…” Sam choked up for a moment, Dean’s face going blurry as tears welled in his eyes. “Every blow and every rape.” He managed to choke out. “I nearly died from it, Dean. I nearly died and left you.”

Suddenly the tremors ceased, Dean’s muscles going taut as he pulled away from Daniel and wrapped his arms around Sam, holding him tighter than he’d ever held him before. “Oh, God, Sammy. I didn’t…oh, God…I’m so…”

Sam buried his face into the vee of Dean’s neck, his voice muffled as he spoke. “Don’t be sorry, Dean…just come back to me.”

***

After all was said and done, Pastor Daniel McAbee had been arrested and charged with the murder and rape of Melanie Jenkins. The one thing, a silver cross engraved with his name, that could connect him to Melanie’s rape and murder had been handed over to Deputy Barnhart. Apparently, Melanie hadn’t given up without a fight; tearing the cross from around Daniel’s neck during the attack, the one thing she had clung to as she slowly suffocated beneath the stone cairn. It wasn’t as if Barnhart needed it, though. Daniel had made a full confession to Barnhart in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Dean had done one hell of a number on him. 

He’d been attracted to Melanie from the time she was sixteen and when he’d discovered that she and Cissy were lovers something had cracked inside him. Being gay was a mortal sin not to mention adultery considering she was married to that Chan boy, Daniel had explained calmly. He’d only wanted to speak to her, but she’d insisted on allowing the devil manipulate her, claim her soul. Sam had no doubt that McAbee was just as insane as Ingley had been in life. He continued rattling on about how it had been his God-given right to show Melanie the error of her ways. He’d never meant to kill her, he’d actually thought she was dead when he’d buried her beneath the cairn in the cave, but he’d saved her soul by initiating her in the love between a man and a woman. 

After further investigation, Barnhart’s office had discovered that Daniel McAbee or rather Daniel Matthews had been defrocked by the church some years before after he was discovered molesting a young female parishioner in his first parish in a small Texas town. It had been a similar situation. The teenager had come to talk to Pastor Matthews about her confusion over her attraction to her best friend. In that case, though, the girl had been lucky, and she’d survived.

Dean hadn’t spoken since he’d handed the cross to Barnhart and anytime Sam asked him a question he’d just nod yes or no, his eyes held a curious expression. It was as if he were trying to figure something out. It was the look he had when they would do research on a case. Sam could almost hear the gears turning in his brother’s head and to be honest he wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

***

Melanie Jenkins’ funeral was huge, every person in Hannibal attending. The profusion of autumn colored flowers filled the church with a sweet perfume and the love of the town for one of their own was palatable in the air. Although Barnhart had figured out that neither Sam nor Dean were FBI he didn’t report them, he actually thanked them for what they’d done, and Paul Jenkins had insisted they set with he and his family during the service.

Afterward , Sam and Dean had stood back as Melanie finally was laid to rest in the small cemetery next to the church. It was as they were standing and watching that Sam had received a phone call. At first, he thought that he would just let voice mail pick it up, but to his surprise, it was a Connecticut area code, more specifically the area code for Abington Four Corners. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered the call never the less.

Stepping away with a gentle pat on Dean’s shoulder he flipped open the phone. “Yeah.”

“Sam, that you, son?”

With a frown, Sam leaned against the car. “Sheriff Baxter?”

“What’s this sheriff crap?” Baxter’s voice wavered for a moment.

The frown deepened between Sam’s brows as he glanced up to see Dean leaning against the churchyard’s fence. “What is it, Robert?” A faint sigh ghosted past his lips, his gaze locked on his brother’s back.

“Look, son, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I didn’t know where she was headed.”

“Who?” Sam questioned even though he knew the answer.

“Bronwen, son. I figured you knew she was headed your way.”

“Of course, I did. She’s been aggravating me for the past week.” There was no reply; just Robert’s steady even breathing. “What? Robert, what the hell is it?”

Robert cleared his throat. “You’ve seen her?”

“Yeah, she’s here in Hannibal. She came down…” Sam started.

“Son, you couldn’t have seen her.”

A shiver traveled through Sam suddenly as he turned away to see Bronwen standing on the church’s stoop, a gentle smile on her face. “What the hell are you talking about, Robert?”

“Son, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Bronwen died in a car accident on her way to the airport. That was a week ago.”

Eyes widening, the phone slipped from Sam’s hand hitting the ground, the faint sound of Robert’s panicked voice reached him, but the words weren’t quite clear. Swallowing hard he blinked back the burning in his eyes as Bronwen nodded at him, then slowly faded away. One final job, he thought, as the guardian of Bara-Hack, trying to fix what Ingley’s spirit had torn apart. That was just like Bronwen—always the pushy broad. Why he wondered, didn’t it surprise him that she could push around a reaper just as she had pushed him in the beginning? 

***

The graveside service was quick and simple and as the mourners began to disperse, Sam had said his goodbyes to Robert Baxter promising to drop in the next time they were in Connecticut. Both of them knew it was a lie, but neither admitted it. Even if they ever went back to Connecticut, they’d give Bara-Hack a wide berth. 

Leading Dean back to the car, he drove them back to the motel. The drive passed in silence as had the past few days. It was a silence that both terrified and worried Sam down to his bones. He hoped that Bronwen’s presence, no matter how unnatural, had been enough to help them both get back on track. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever tell Dean about that little tidbit. All he wanted was Dean to talk to him, but for some reason this time he didn’t push him.

Now here he was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom Sam stared at his reflection in the cracked glass and wondered if this was it. If his confession on that cliff had finally broken Dean so deeply that he’d never speak again. With a sigh, he reached for the towel on the rack next to the sink and patted his face dry. It was time to face the music, he thought, no better time than the present.

Eyes averted to the floor and shoulders hunched, Sam opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, his heart thundering against his chest.

“You know I’ve been thinking.”

The sound of Dean’s voice after so many silent days nearly undid Sam as he lifted his gaze from the floor. The sight that greeted him was something he’d never imagined and his gut twisted into a knot. Dean lay stretched out on his bed in nothing, but his boxers, legs crossed at the ankles, and a smile as bright as the noonday sun shining on his face. The smile even reached his eyes and Sam felt his throat closing up with emotion. 

“Dean…” he began, but Dean halted the words with one look.

“Just listen, okay, Sammy.”

Nodding mutely, Sam crossed the room, settling on his own bed, and his hands hung clasped between his knees as he studied his brother’s face. He had no idea what Dean was about to say to him, but then that was nothing new. Dean constantly surprised him with the way his mind worked. Watching him do research was what Sam imagined it would have been like watching God’s creation of the world. It was watching someone take chaos and spin it wildly into something solid and stable. He saw that chaos now, slowly solidifying into something far stronger and more real than anything he’d seen in Dean since all of this began.

“Six months,” Dean whispered. “I didn’t realize what I’d been putting you through…what I was putting myself through.”

Sam started to open his mouth, but Dean shook his head.

“Dad always pushed us to be strong.” He continued, his voice soft, yet steady. “He wanted us to be prepared for anything, but sometimes no matter how prepared you are the reality is different.” 

Dean took a deep breath, his gaze catching Sam’s and a warmth pulsed through him, a warmth that he only felt when he let himself admit how much he needed his brother. He smiled at Sam and Sam smiled back hesitant at first, but that smile came, teeth blindingly white, and his dimples deepening. Sliding across the bed, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed as Sam watched with wide glistening eyes. With a sharp breath, he reached out pulling Sam’s hands into his own, his thumbs caressing the swell of his knuckles. “Do you know what kept me fighting down there?” His head lifted, his eyes sparkling.

Shaking his head, Sam whispered. “No.”

A faint laugh ghosted past Dean’s lips as he lifted one hand, cupping Sam’s jaw. Sam leaned into the warmth of that touch his eyes drifting shut. Sam remembered this touch as he remembered to breathe or to eat. Their entire lives there had only been one constant. Towns might come and go, apartments and motel rooms a blur, but this touch so gentle and yet so strong remained forever solid in his life.

“You did, Sammy,” Dean replied, his thumb stroking along Sam’s cheek, smearing the moisture that trailed down in a single warm track. “The thought of never seeing you again it was too damn much to bear. I couldn’t image for one moment not seeing you again or touching you again.”

“Dean…” Sam breathed out, his eyes drifting open, “…I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from that.”

“Don’t be sorry, Sammy. You didn’t stop looking…” Dean choked up for a split second, his free hand swiping at the tears that welled in his eyes. “All that time you were fighting to find me I was fighting to find you, too.”

Leaning forward Dean pressed his lips gently against Sam’s in a chaste kiss. Heat coiled in Sam’s belly as he allowed Dean to take the lead, careful not to frighten Dean or cause him to pull away. The feel of Dean’s lips was like satin on his, smooth and sweet. Sweeter than anything else he’d ever tasted. Slowly Dean’s lips parted, the velvety touch of his tongue sending shivers down Sam’s spine as he traced the cleft between Sam’s lips, then he pulled back his eyes glittering.

Sam sucked in a deep breath, his heart beating rapidly against his ribs, a bird trapped in a cage from which there was no escape. And, he thought, if he were truly honest with himself in that moment, he didn’t want to escape. He’d been running to this and then from it his entire life in one way or another. He swallowed hard, his hands lifting to cup Dean’s face, one thumb ghosting over the swell of his lower lip, flushed pink and begging for attention.

“I want you to be my first, Dean,” Sam whispered, his voice thick with the tears he fought to suppress, but that refused to obey. “I wasn’t lying before.”

Dean smiled. “I know…but I’m not sure…”

There was no way Sam was taking no for an answer, not after everything they’d both been through. “I am, Dean. I’m sure enough for both of us.”

He stood, pushing himself up off the bed, and watched as Dean drew back, eyes wide and blow with the need to be like this. Just the two of them, the way it had always been, and even if they did find their dad, it was the way it was. The way it would always remain until the end of their days on this earth. They’d both spent far too damn much time denying it, wasted too much time running when there was nothing to run from. 

Shucking off his jacket he dropped it to the floor, his gaze never leaving Dean’s as he began popping the buttons of his dress shirt one by one. He could feel Dean’s gaze on him, burning and wanting all in one breath, as each button revealed one more inch of golden skin. When he reached his waist, he tugged his shirt free, shrugging his shoulders and letting it slid down his arms until it joined his jacket on the floor.

“Sam…” 

Dean breathed out his name like a holy benediction to some forgotten saint, biting his lower lip, his pupils blown wide with more than lust. There was love and need shining next to want and desire. Sam would never tell Dean, but his eyes were definitely the windows to his soul---they always had been. He shook his head as his fingers worked at his belt. He wasn’t going to rush this. Since he’d been sixteen, he’d fantasized about being with Dean like this. He wanted whatever happened to leave those adolescent fantasies in the dust. Dean had always been his protector, hands big and yet gentle when Sam had been younger, always cradling him, stroking his cheek, and promising him that no matter what the future held he’d always be there.

Now it was his turn.

Sliding the belt from his slacks, he kicked off his shoes and tossed the belt over his shoulder not giving a damn where it landed. Before the belt even hit the floor Sam had his fly open, and his slacks slid down over his narrow hips, pooling around his ankles. Stepping from them his smile turned to something seductive as he hooked his thumbs in his boxers. He hissed softly between clenched teeth as he pulled out the waist and dropped them, his cock so hard just the whisper of worn cotton was enough to make him shiver with the need to feel Dean’s touch.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean’s voice cracked as he stood, sliding his own boxers down, and stepping from them. “Nothing this beautiful could be wrong.”

They stepped closer to one another, cheeks flushed with heat. No matter what the world thought this was definitely right, Sam thought as he leaned forward, cupping Dean’s face in his hands, and kissed him. At first, it was just a gentle brush of lips, but then Dean’s arms were lifting, his hands cupping the back of Sam’s skull, tangling in the tousled coffee colored strands of his hair tugging him closer. He gasped softly as Dean’s teeth caught his lower lip, tugging gently, and then sucking on it. Finally, he released Sam’s lip, his tongue darting out, teasing until Sam’s lips parted and the kiss deepened.

Sam wasn’t even aware of when Dean had begun walking him backward along the small space that separated the two beds until he felt the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees. For one moment, it seemed as if time had come to a standstill and then he was tumbling back. Unwilling to give up Dean’s lips he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, nails digging small crescents in his brother’s back as he pulled him down with him. Beneath them, the bed moaned in protest, but still, the kiss didn’t stop, it only stretched out, becoming head spinning. 

Finally, Dean pulled away gasping for air, his face flushed, and beads of perspiration glittering in his lashes. He smiled down at Sam, a bit of the devil in that smile, and Sam returned the grin licking the taste of his brother from his lips. He’d been searching for this Dean. The Dean who he’d loved his entire life first as a brother, then as a father, and now as his lover. He’d thought this Dean was lost forever to him, but he hadn’t been lost. This Dean had just been hiding behind the walls and now those walls were slowly crumbling away.

“If the kiss is that good…” Dean let the unspoken hang in the air between them for a split second, then his smile widened even further.

Sam lifted one hand stroking along the solid angle of Dean’s jaw. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

Beneath the fringe of damp lashes, Dean’s eyes flickered with doubt for a moment, and then he dove in for another kiss. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his words were bittersweet with regret for all the time they’d wasted. “Never.” He whispered his breath warm and moist. “Never again, Sammy.”

Pushing himself up, he reached between them, one hand curling around Sam’s cock, and squeezing gentle. A moan ghosted past Sam’s lips, his back arching with the thrust of his hips up into Dean’s fist. His eyes fluttered shut and he began to fall into the touch of Dean’s hand, each callous on his palm scraping against the sensitive flesh of the head as Dean thumbed the bundle of nerves just beneath the ridge. Sam’s erection pulsed in Dean’s palm, the clear warm fluid seeping beneath his fingers from the slit, and coating his palm.

“Want to make this good for you, Sammy.” He voice was whiskey raw as he shifted his hand thumbing the tip of Sam’s cock, spreading the pre-cum. “Don’t want to hurt you.” He leaned in licking his way along Sam’s collarbone, his skin flushed with heat beneath his tongue.

Another guttural moan vibrated through Sam’s chest as Dean’s tongue traced a path down to one nipple, teeth nipping, and tugging. “You never could hurt me.” Sam panted out as Dean moved lower, his hand releasing his erection, lowering to his knees on the worn carpet. “Dean?” His eyes widened as he tried to set up.

“Hush.” Dean’s smile was soft as he spoke. “Spread your legs for me, Sammy.”

Doing as he was told, Sam felt Dean grasp his hips and tug him closer to the edge of the mattress, the bedspread bunching and twisting beneath him. Leaning over, Dean pulled open the drawer to the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of slick. Blinking, Sam watched as Dean popped the cap and lifted the bottle, the cool liquid drizzling along the length of his cock and causing him to jump.

“Damn that’s cold.” Sam hissed between clenched teeth.

Dean’s laughter was a faint whisper along his skin, leaving a path of goose bumps up his naked thighs. “Had to cool you off. Didn’t want this was over before it began.”

Sam just quirked a brow at Dean, and then his laughter burst out, echoing in Dean’s ears. It felt good to laugh again, he thought, as Dean’s fingers trailed through the slick light as the brush of butterfly wings. He nearly choked when those same fingers slid down, avoiding his balls, and traveling down his crease to settle over his opening.

“Dean…” he threw his head back with a whimper, his legs shifting to give Dean better access.

Carefully, Dean lifted one of Sam’s legs, resting it over his shoulder, and then went back to circling Sam’s opening with light touches until Sam began to relax. “Make it perfect.” He moaned softly as he slowly began to press one finger into Sam’s body. Sam’s hips jerked, then stilled. “It’s okay, Sammy. Just breathe.”

Slowly Dean twisted his finger, eyes glazing over as he worked it deeper, and above him, he could hear Sam’s soft panting breathes. Once he was past the tight ring of muscle, he began to massage the warm flesh with the pad of his finger, searching for the spot he knew would have Sam begging for more. Suddenly his fingertip grazed across the soft swell, and he applied gentle pressure. He wasn’t disappointed with Sam’s reaction.

Hips twisting, Sam growled, desperate and needy in the back of his throat. “Oh, God…please more. Need more.”

“Take it slow,” Dean said as he continued massaging the inside of Sam’s convulsing channel. He only spoke again as he thrust his finger in a slow lazy movement, fascinated by how Sam’s body clung desperately to it. “You’re so tight.” 

“Dean, please…” Sam whimpered softly, “…please I need more.”

“I know.”

Pulling back his hand, he slowly added another finger, and Sam cried out faintly. Dean watched as Sam’s head thrashed from side to side while he slowly fucked him open, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Dean had never imagined that anything could feel this good, that nothing as beautiful as this moment would come, not after Connecticut. A part of him knew Sam was letting him make this move because he knew Dean needed to have control and that only made Dean love him more. 

“More.” Sam gasped, his hips pushing back now in slow circling thrusts.

Dean snorted. “Bossy, much?”

Lifting his head, Sam met Dean’s gaze and released a soft breath. “Only when I’m horny.” He grinned from ear to ear.

Without a word, Dean pulled back and added a third finger stretching Sam wider. Sam’s head fell back with a thud against the mattress, a whine vibrating through his body as he thrust back onto Dean’s probing fingers. His eyes shone with lust as Sam writhed, impaled on his fingers, and desperately trying to voice his emotions only to come up short in the word department. Although Dean thought, the sounds he was making were just fine considering how his cock was twitching.

“You ready, Sammy?” He questioned softly, his fingers twisting so he could drag his fingertip along the faint swell of Sam’s prostate.

“God, yes…yes…please, Dean. Please fuck me now.” Sam’s voice was desperate with need.

Pulling his fingers free, Dean drew himself to his feet and crawled onto the bed. “Come on…move around for me.”

“Can’t.” The loss of fullness nearly had Sam sobbing.

Dean chuckled softly. “Got to…need you on your knees.”

Blinking sweat from his eyes, Sam shook his head. “No…I want to see your face.” He mumbled.

“You sure, Sammy?”

Sam nodded. “Want to see your face when you come inside me for the first time.”

“No, rubber?” Dean quirked a brow. 

“Trust you, Dean.” He panted as he shifted weakly around and back, his head coming to rest on one of the pillows. “Always have.”

With a quick nod, Dean slipped from the bed, grabbing the pillows from the other bed, and then rejoined Sam who was lazily stroking his cock. Dean couldn’t help the grin that tickled his lips, leaning forward, and kissing Sam slowly. When he pulled back Sam was watching him with those wide, almond eyes, that shifted from blue to green and then to a gold-laced hazel. There was no way he’d give this up, he thought, never give this up again.

“Lift your hips up.”

Sam lifted up, his cock shiny and slick with pre-cum where he’d been stroking himself. As Dean slid the pillows beneath his brother’s trembling hips, he swallowed hard trying to steady himself.

This was real.

He was, finally, where he’d wanted to be for six years. His gut clenched for a moment as his gaze moved over Sam’s body, finally coming to rest on his flushed face.

“What is it, Dean?” A flicker of worry skimmed across the surface of his eyes, bright and filled with desire.

Dean shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Good.” Sam returned his smile. “Cause if you don’t get busy I might just explode.”

Laughing, Dean knee-walked around Sam until he settled between his sprawled thighs. “Not yet, but you will.” 

He glanced around, spotting the abandoned bottle of slick in the folds of the tangled bedspread. Grabbing the bottle, he popped the cap again and carefully slicked up his own erection. The feel of his hands made him quiver, getting closer to the edge than he thought possible. This was Sam, he thought, the brother he’d loved beyond reason from the moment his mom and dad had brought him home. Smiling down at Sam he moved closer, then reached out, stroking the inside of his thighs, his thumbs stroking circular patterns along his smooth skin. The fine golden brown hairs tickled his palms as he continued stroking upward, one hand dropping to cup Sam’s balls, rolling and squeezing them gently.

Anything else Sam had wanted to say was lost in a flurry of soft moans and whimpers, his fingers clawing at the bedspread as Dean fondled him. He was so damn close, but he refused to give in until Dean was inside him. His eyes fluttered open, focusing on Dean’s face, and drinking in the beauty of his flushed face. “Do it.” Sam choked out, voice thick as molasses. “Please, Dean. I want your cock inside me.”

Dean sighed softly feeling as if he would just die from the closeness. Lifting Sam’s muscled legs up, he hooked his knees over his shoulders, and then he positioned himself. He smiled down at Sam, his heart pounding, and Sam smiled back.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Pressing forward, he felt Sam opening up to the head of his cock, the slick muscle pulling him forward in a welcoming embrace. Beneath him, Sam whimpered deep in his throat, but his eyes never left Dean’s face, and only love shone in their golden-hazel depths. There was so much they hadn’t told one another. Dean wasn’t sure if they ever would, but in this moment, nothing else mattered. There was just the two of them, here in this room, and nothing could change that ever.

Dean swallowed hard as he felt the ring of muscle give, the tip popping through as he pushed a little harder. A groan swelled in his chest as his heart began to race. “Damn it…oh, God…so fucking tight.”

Eyes locked on Dean’s face, Sam grunted as Dean’s swollen length slowly filled him. He’d known the logistics, but the actual thing was so much different. There was the burn of pain even though Dean was going slow and easy, inch-by-inch. He panted, trying to focus on Dean only. The light he saw shining in his brother’s eyes made him relax and as he did, he could feel the burn easing, replaced by a strange fullness that sent tingling sensations through his pelvis. 

“You, alright?”

Sam nodded, his lips quivering. “God, Dean…it feels so…” 

He couldn’t think of the right words, his brain slowly turning inside out and he wasn’t sure what to say or do. The decision was ripped from him as the tip of Dean’s erection pressed down, scraping across his prostate. He cried out his fingers digging deep into the bedspread, nails clawing wildly, jolts of electricity focusing in on his weeping cock. Twisting his hips, he desperately tried to communicate what he needed. Dean gasped and drew back thrusting his hips again and Sam cried out again, his muscles clenching around the thickness inside him.

“Dean, oh…shit…more.” Sam panted. “Please…so big. Feels so damn good.”

At those words, Dean slid in the final few inches and he groaned as he was squeezed tightly by Sam‘s muscles. “Damn, Sammy…so tight and warm.” He took a deep breath trying to get some semblance of control over himself and giving Sam time to adjust. Looking down he met Sam’s gaze and the emotion he saw in his brother’s eyes caused him to choke up.

“Move.” Sam hissed. 

Nodding Dean drew back and as he did, he could feel every ripple as Sam’s body clung to him desperately. He bit his lower lip as he pulled out until just the head of his cock remained and then he thrust forward sharply. A cry ripped from Sam’s throat as Dean leaned forward bracing himself on his arms, catching the final notes of that cry in a deep kiss. His tongue slid between Sam’s lips coaxing his tongue to come out to play. For a few seconds they just relished the taste of one another’s mouths, hot and moist, and then Dean pulled his hips back again, but quicker.

“Dean, God faster!” Sam cried out against his lips. “Faster please!”

That was all Dean needed to reassure any doubts he was having, that and the feel of Sam’s ankles crossing between his shoulder blades. With the next snap of his hips, he was the one that cried out and Sam claimed his mouth in a brutal kiss, catching his lower lip between his teeth. At some point, he lost control not to mention track of time.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, his nails scratching through the bristled hair at the base of his skull. Thigh muscles flexing, Sam slowly began to build a rhythm that complimented Dean’s thrusts, and his cries became low moans. With each thrust of his hips, Dean swallowed as much of those moans as he could, his tongue dancing with Sam’s and the taste of copper filling their mouths. The next few minutes were a blur of sweat-salted skin, gasps, and grunts that echoed through the silent room. Beneath them the bed groaned in protest as Dean continued to speed up, hitting Sam’s prostate with every inward thrust of his hips.

Ripping his mouth from Dean’s, Sam took a ragged breath, sobbing softly. “Gonna come, Dean. Jesus…oh, fuck…I can’t stop…please, Dean!”

“It’s okay…” Dean panted sweat stinging his eyes. “Gonna come, too. Come with me, Sammy, come with me!”

With one final thrust, Dean leaned in swallowing the scream of desire that tore from Sam’s throat and bit down on Sam’s lip. Between their sweat slicked bellies Sam’s erection spasmed and hot thick cum splatter across them both without Sam ever being touched. Seconds later Dean screamed into Sam’s mouth as he filled his ass with spurt after spurt of cum, his hips finally stilling, and his arms giving out as Sam’s legs slid down them.

Tongues tangled they continued kissing, lazily, tasting every inch of one another’s mouths. Finally, they had to pull back to gasp in deep breaths of air and Dean buried his face in the vee of Sam’s neck, tongue flicking out to taste his skin as the scent of sex swelled around them. Sam was the first to say something as his heart began to calm and the feel of Dean’s cum seeping down the inside of his thighs brought him back to reality.

“That was…”

“Incredible?” Sam’s skin muffled Dean’s reply.

Sam snorted. “Incredible doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Laughter vibrated through Dean who was pressed tight to Sam, and he smiled, eyes growing heavy. “Dude, you’re heavy.”

Lifting his head, Dean quirked a brow. “Like you have room to talk.”

“Who’s on who?”

Dean couldn’t argue with that. Carefully he pulled out of Sam and rolled to his side, studying Sam’s face as he bemoaned the loss of that intimate connection. All he could see was contentment and exhaustion in Sam’s expression. A few moments of silence passed as he continued watching Sam, one hand lazily drawing patterns in the sweat and cum splattered across Sam’s flat stomach.

“So…we okay?”

Shifting to his side, one leg flinging over Dean’s hips, Sam opened one eye as he snuggled close. “Yeah, man.” He yawned wide as his eye drifted shut. “We’ll be okay.”

Dean smiled and let his eyes drift shut, listening to the soft whistle of Sam’s breathing. “I think you’re right, Sammy.”

A faint mumble escaped Sam as he burrowed closer and Dean couldn’t help, but laugh at Sam’s muffled words. “…’m always right…the college boy.”

As Dean drifted into sleep the last thing he thought was that there were things far more terrible than death. After all, he’d been there and even though he wasn’t completely healed he was getting there. He smiled to himself, lifting one hand, and stroking his fingers through Sam’s damp hair as he sighed. “Thank you, Mel.”

Dean slipped away, never seeing the faint sparkle of mist in the corner, nor did he hear the soft reply as the mist faded away.

_ You’re welcome, Dean. _

~Finis~

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> I’ve only been to Hannibal once quite a number of years ago, but the lighthouse is a real location and quite beautiful standing over the Mississippi River. It’s basically a tourist attraction now. Most of the places and things mentioned are real though I have no idea if there is a Quik Trip just off the bridge. KSDK Channel 5 is the NBC affiliate in St. Louis where I live. The Garden House Bed & Breakfast is a beautiful rehabbed Victorian in downtown Hannibal (never been inside, but I’ve seen the exterior), and the Great River Road basically runs the length of the Mississippi along the state line between Missouri and Illinois on the Illinois side--the view is gorgeous. Maxie’s is a fictious roadhouse/bar vaguely based on a bar in East St. Louis called Pop’s it’s been well over two decades since I was dragged there by a co-worker of mine so it probably has changed a great deal. When I was younger it was basically a meat market--you wanted to get drunk and get laid go to Pop’s.


End file.
